Emeth

The Hourglass Order

Fate Breaker

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Captured by Palaparese rebels, Raffaella must bargain for her life. Unaware that she is aided by a familiar face, she weighs her political priorities against those of her nation and her captors as she is presented with an offer she can't refuse.

Palapar 4: Negotiations on the Balcony

When Raffaella awoke, her magic had been taken away. She was not trusted with it, but she was not restrained either. Mixed messages were being sent here.

It was not some dark room that she was in, at least. Instead, she was seated on a chair on a covered balcony. It was sunny - sometime around midday - and they were outside of the city, overlooking it.

A man who she vaguely recognized - that rebel leader - stood with his back to her, watching something in the distance. A second figure, only a silhouette in the shadows that pooled in the verandah's corners, had seemed to be talking to the first when he noticed Raffie stir.

"Ah you're awake, how are you feeling?"

The shadow spoke in Avincian with a deep smooth voice. It had much of the inflections expected of a Revidian native speaker. The shadow shifted, as when the shadow fully turned their gaze to Raffaella, 2 orbs of burning rainbow energy cut through the shadow casted. The shadow, Black King, was sitting at the table with Raffaella, as a hand appeared from the shadows with a cup and a small serving plate.

"Would you like a drink?"

The freckled redhead gazed groggily from behind the bags under her eyes. She met the two lights of the unknown man for a prolonged moment, seeming befuddled. Then, she grinned. "I know I'm little, but I wasn't born yesterday." Her voice was also raspy and weak without her magic accoutrements. "I'd like to know why I'm still alive, though."

It was in response to this that the other man turned about. He didn't make a show of it. he just turned on the spot. "You're alive because - as crazy as it might sound to you given what just happened - we prefer not to kill." He was the small man with the deep voice who she had encountered at the gala. He shrugged with some regret. "Not unless it's necessary to achieve our goals." He glanced over his shoulder at the city in the distance an continued. "He thinks that your death isn't necessary." He jerked a thumb the shadowy man's way. "I need some more convincing."

Black King lightly set the cup near Raffaella as he allowed his compatriot to speak. When mentioned to have been the one to believe Raffaella's death was unnecessary, he lightly waved to Raffaella. The burning orbs where eyes would be turned into crescents from what could be described as a smile.

"You may be on the wrong side, however, that does not mean we must be enemies."

"In other words, you want to know who's paying the ransom, and how much you can get," she replied to Dani, inspecting her nails dismissively. "Sadly, no one's paying. Unlike the nobles you so despise, I worked hard to get where I am now, which means my life is worthless by reason of birth. For what it's worth, I profit nothing from the suffering of your people. All of my funds come from my late adoptive mother's inheritance and a charity called Vaşdal's Hope for the Infirm. My bank records could prove it, were we in Virang."

Dani snorted and turned away to look outside. This girl was either dumber than he'd imagined or it was an attempt at emotional blackmail. In fact, he decided to call her out. "Shut up," he told her, point blank. "You know that if we were looking to ransom you, you wouldn't be talking to the two of us, uncuffed." He turned partway back and smirked crookedly at the other man. "Though I guess we could ask you to drain that fund of yours."

"Without the Gift, being uncuffed makes no difference. It's called playing with your food," Raffie replied with just as much snark. She met the Black King's strange eyes, dismissing Dani entirely. "The fact is, I am not an enemy of your cause. Everything I've done was in service of accumulating more influence, and someday, the power to make it all stop—to point at corrupt nobles like that fat bitch from before, who let her son rape their servant girl, and say: 'off with her head!'" Her eyes went manically wide. "No long moral debates, no sitting around a table with useless bureaucrats—just swift justice, like Dami intended." Her eyes narrowed and her smile vanished. "But until then, I had to keep 'playing the game.' Not that you'll believe a word I say. Of course I'd tickle your ears by agreeing with your ends, if not the means—but, I do mean it. While you're killing the corrupt and cruel, if you happen to remember me, know that I'm smiling on you from the endless dream beyond."

She leaned back into her chair and broke a nail on the armrest in frustration. "So whatever you plan to do, do it swiftly. As I said, I hate sitting around a table discussing the fates of other people's lives."

"Gods, you're dramatic." Dani rolled his eyes. "and you can drop the nail, by the way." He nodded slowly, stroking the short sparse beard on his chin. He glanced the other man's way. "What do you think, Volto?"

Black King lightly nodded as he listened to what Raffaella believes and is doing. He shifted back lightly as he continued to listen. Even lightly whistling when she spoke of swift judgment, of both others, and herself. He turned towards Dani and almost chuckled, "Quite dramatic indeed. Entertaining even."

Black King shifted as he instead took the cup meant for Raffaella. Lightly shifting it in his hands as he says, "I believe someone this dramatic would have an easy time lying."

Black King lifted the cup to his face. Masking it in shadows as a solid clunk sounded. A moment after he spoke, "However not when a good portion of what she speaks of is the truth. Much of what she said is already known."

He looked back to Dani, "What of you? What do you think?"

"Pfft," she scoffed, placing the finger with the broken nail against the artery in her neck. "You thought it was for you. That's pretty funny." She smiled darkly, but then she lowered her hand. "My whole life has been one long lesson in acting. Excuse me for the dramatic flair."

Dani scowled for a moment and let her speak. "I think that the only way to be certain is to put it to the test." He shrugged. "For what it's worth, I would like to believe you. As I said, you are here and not tied up in a cellar for a reason." He turned, once again, to the masked man. "What say you? How might she demonstrate where she lies?"

Black King almost scoffed out a laugh when he saw Raffaella hold the broken nail to her neck. He couldn't think of any reason why she would make an attempt at her own life. Martyrdom was not something that would come from it. Yet after a moment of thought, Black King spoke, "Yes I believe a test is in order. And I believe there is a perfect situation coming for this".

Black King's gaze moved to Raffaella as he continued, "There has been a plague within Palapar. One that was brought from the outside and that feasters. The Virangish had brought with them their Darhannic religion. Yet that is not the worst of it. If it was just the religion itself, it would be well enough. However the head of the Blue Star Idasque, Imam Tilki, is a corrupt man who has only been a vermin within this country. While spouting his poisonous religion he had taken much from the people of Palapar. All in the name of this religion."

Dani scowled slightly, taking perhaps a less extreme line than his counterpart, but he went along with it. "I would not put things in such tones of brimstone," he admitted, "but my counterpart and I are in agreement. He is a symbol of a foreign religion imposed upon our people, just as the Idasque he preaches out of was built on the backs of our uncompensated labour." He shook his head. "So long as he and that Idasque exist, those who use religion and bureaucracy as tools of coercion and domination will continue to thrive here." Dani went still, biting his lower lip. "I say with some regret, that he must die." His eyes bore into Raffaella, asking of her a question that he did not yet put into words.

Raffie's narrowed eyes regarded him lazily. It seemed their goals weren't aligned, after all. Darhannic religious hegemony was absolutely part of her plans. "Vaşdal has shown me what he intends: to die a martyr. Seems like a problem that will sort itself out." Her dull eyes drifted meaningfully to the man that Dani had given the title of "Volto."

She let her eyes settle on him a little before continuing. "So, you think I can convince him to get out of there, so he can instead die of 'old age' rather than upon the world stage?" she summarized. "I am a prophet, and the progress you've made towards liberation thus far has lent credibility to my dreams. If I say that he must live, at least a few on my side might be willing to lend a hand in his escape—by force, if needed." She tapped her broken nail on the armrest, thinking.

The downfall of Virang was not her end goal. A purge of the corrupt, and regime change, if necessary, yes—but not destruction, and certainly not a barrier to the expansion of Darhanna. There was also, of course, Zarina. She would, in theory, betray Virang if it somehow served her ends, but Zarina was off limits. She also didn't want the Imam to be killed. She fully intended to have him die of old age, indeed.

But that damnable cult that stabbed her mother in the back. A chance to align herself with Volti interests may represent a possible opportunity to remove their strings from her life and her purse for good.

The tapping grew in speed as the wheels in her mind turned. She didn't seem aware of how uncomfortable she looked. With her mask of magic peeled away, her lack of poker face was obvious. "He doesn't have the patience for my speeches—very much like you, in that regard. I will pull him by the arm, if that is what you intend—but I will not spill his blood. Get one of your dogs to do it." She spoke loftily, as though such a task were beneath her, but she obviously wasn't the dainty lady she portrayed herself as, to grow pale at the sight of blood. The true cause of her protest was poorly masked.

"You don't have the stomach to kill him," Dani observed, and it sounded oddly unjudgmental. "Is it because you find him to be a good man?" He crossed his arms, leaning against the railing. "Or is there more to it?" He shrugged. "If we're to be bedfellows, hiding things from each other won't make for the most comfortable dream." He arched an eyebrow.

Raffie's eyes flicked to Dani. "Oh, you can be poetic too if you try," she observed with a small, short-lived smile. "I don't know much about the man, but my intuition tells me he's not a bad person. If he's engaged in corruption as you say, it was not for self-gain," she said confidently.

Her mind drifted into a fragment of her dream. "He reminds me of my mother, who repaid evil with kindness. A good-hearted fool who marches to their death, carrying holy scripture where their dagger ought be instead." She opened her eyes. "There are those in Virang who await his death with plans at the ready, but those are destined to ruin. As it stands, his death will bring me nothing but sorrow, and I daresay it will bring your people nothing but more pain and death." She spoke matter-of-factly, as though the winds of politics and the course of fate were matters of certainty.

Yet, she had been willing to stand aside and let him die, for the sake of standing by Zarina in her desperate hour. "What became of Zarina Al-Nader?" She asked as if expecting an answer.

If Dani smiled, it might've just as easily been some other expression, for he did not smile much. He glanced over at the hooded man, who let out a muffled snort from behind his mask and nodded. "You may be right, and his death will cause more harm than good for all," he admitted, "though I hope you will see what we are trying to do and make the right choice."

He allowed the statement to linger for only a single extended moment, and it was during this that Raffaella posed a question of her own. If the hooded man gave away nothing, the rebel leader kept true to his side of the proposed agreement. "She is unharmed, though I understand we were forced to give her plushtail oil so that she would not kill our people on the scene." He nodded slowly. "She has been sent up north, into the countryside in the path of the Company's expansion, to see for herself how the people of Palapar live."

Raffaella nodded solemnly and exhaled. So, placing a spear in Zarina's hands did not doom her. It might have even saved her life. "If you tell her I'm alive, it might do you both some good." Some time to process their failure to stop Raffaella's prophecy could help as well, but that was less important than ensuring she didn't give in to despair.

"I won't fail, so long as the Gift is returned to me—and, my cat would help too. Gabriel is the only other ally I trust completely." Her eyes searched Dani's. She was not in a position to make demands, but she made them anyway. He was not the only one who needed to probe the other side for sincerity.

The two men exchanged a quick look and the hooded one nodded.
"You weren't given a large dose. You should be back to normal in a couple of days," Dani remarked. "As for your friend, she will learn what she learns." He gestured for her to stand and pointed down towards the gardens. They'd taken over one of the Company executives' houses and it was rather opulent. There was a greenhouse in the middle of them, for growing plants from different climates. "Your cat nearly killed a person on his way in. They've put him in there for now instead of something more permanent." He nodded. "Go retrieve him and then you're going to be ransomed."

"For optics' sake," the hooded man assured her. "Wouldn't look right if we just let you walk free."

"I suppose we have no time to stage something more convincing," Raffaella surprisingly agreed. She scratched her chin as she walked through the garden to the greenhouse.

She paused when she came across an Elder's Embrace and admired it. "In that case, let's let Ren Baykara foot the bill," Raffie suggested, as if the thought amused her. She heard no complaint from the two men, so she proceeded to the greenhouse to pick up Gabriel.

"Heel, Gabby. Sit," she commanded to the grumpy feline. "It seems our captors have an eye for good people, my dear." She stroked his chin affectionately. "Perhaps a liberated Palapar does stand a chance, after all. I may have to take back what I said."

Marked for death by Osman the Prudent, Imam Tilki's fate may be sealed, but Raffaella seeks to overturn it. Rather than flee, she faces an opponent she cannot defeat, but he exposes her identity. To forestall possible execution for betraying the Virangish crown, she stakes a claim to divine authority, much earlier than she originally planned.

Palapar 4: The Burning of Blue Star Idasque

One Week Previous

He had been giving nonstop since the idasques had reopened. They almost hadn't. The vizier had felt it was a risk. The populace, for now, was too hostile. Imam Tilki had argued that they would remain so without the idasques trying some form of outreach.

The compromise was that his house of worship was now a fortress. Janissaries entered and exited through every door but the most holy, always on patrol, glaring at the locals who came for food and blessings, interrupting those entering the dream with the clap of their boots, and barking orders at each other and those who walked where they were not supposed to.

And yet, they, too, were part of the Dream. They prostrated themselves in prayer. They conducted their ritual ablutions. They heeded their Imam when he called upon them for assistance. They cooked and cleaned when they were not guarding. They ensured that all business and charity was conducted fairly and, when they did not, they asked earnestly for forgiveness.

The locals had been hit hard by the sanctions, and they had little in the way of recourse, and so they came. Most did not pray. They cared nothing for his religion. They wanted food and, in some cases, shelter. He did not judge, for he was not Dami. He merely provided. Yet, as he did, he saw the beauty in it: how they helped each other, how they greeted him with respect and even fondness, how Virangish and Palaparese stood in the same chambers and conversed around meals.

And Imam Tikli, for all of his wounded idealism, all of his golden dreams of a better world trampled by the marching boots of his own nation, began to believe that there may have yet been a chance... for peace.

Raffie had volunteered to assist the Imam—not as the prophet-dreamer, with her shining visage and frills and ribbons, but as a humble redheaded girl with a face only the Imam would recognize among those present. She handed out food and joined others in prayer. If she offered them a blessing, she did so quietly and without fanfare.

She was only just recognizable in her humble maidsclothes on account of her extraordinary shortness, and one brief glimpse she had given him of her true face within the Chamber of Deep Dreams. "I'd appreciate it if you could keep this a secret between us. I do have an image to maintain, but doing any actual work in that getup is a bit much for me," she'd managed to say during a brief and lucky window of relative privacy.

If they knew, the Janissaries might have been grateful to not have yet another high-profile public figure to keep track of. Not that it mattered—Raffie stayed within sight of the Imam at all times. For all her glamour and childish attention-seeking behavior, it seemed she really was concerned for his safety. If her eyes flicked his way, it was to make sure he was still there. She worked hard even when he wasn't watching, because she, too, wanted peace to be victorious.

The Gift kept her frail muscles going. She drew from the heat in the air, slowly as to not draw attention to herself, but a few people did notice. Soon, she accumulated a small group of young followers crowding around her for relief from the heat. Somehow, she was able to both secure their silence and get them to assist her. The girl had amassed a 'cool kids' club and she was at the center of it.

It felt nice enough to not have to worry about what other people thought of her, but to be liked when she wasn't cute or wealthy? When had she ever experienced such a thing? It made her want to cry... because she just knew—barring a miracle beyond her ken, this peace and these smiles would not last much longer.

The most humble and fairest of scholars Faiskal Al-Shujeira was helping out with the walls that kept him fed and was willing to entertain his rather heretical questions. The Imam was among the religious figures who were among the few who genuinely seemed to care about the betterment of his community.

He seemed to be sewing?.. within the courtyard of the Idasque, repairing a young scholar’s robes. ”Now, don’t run around too wildly or you’ll fall and I might not have the time to repair it then.” He handed it back to them before packing up the little kit they had.

Days passed by with the young man doing small-time labor, fixing clothing here, helping carry there. He offered to be of help in the kitchen, yet they denied his request by sending him to assist with the preparations of the prayers. It was not world-altering work, but it was fulfilling. Such a peaceful life was scarce to find.

It could almost wake him from a pleasant sleep. Faiskal’s eye went wide. Was he starting to think like a Darhannic? He might have stayed here for quite a while already, and the discussions with the Imam were nice… but he had to remember how a good person like him was prosecuted by these self-centered gods…. Vashdal was neither present, nor mentioned by the other five.

And so the days ebbed and flowed: a Habenaki Summer of tranquility even as clouds that so many refused to see gathered on the horizon. There were some who came to the idasques to cause trouble: at least once was the fountain of ablutions damaged. Twice, people tried to break into the vault. Some would try to chip pieces of precious lapis lazuli from the walls. More than once, when caught, they would decry the building itself: how these stones were taken from their land and raised for the glory of a foreign God with either no or paltry recompense. There were thefts, of course, as well. Some would still take more than what they were given freely.

However, by and large, the numbers coming to the Blue Star Idasque continued to grow, even if they did not quite swell. Aira, the queen's favourite, continued to make her presence known there occasionally, causing headaches for the janissaries who stood guard. They were rough military types, almost to a man, but perhaps even they softened. It was not out of the question that maybe some had started to believe. The imam went about his daily rituals. He led prayers. He meditated in the Chamber of Deep Dreams. He did not say it, but many thought it, in those antebellum days: there may yet be a chance for peace.

These people were fools. So long as men like Piyale Karga and Ertan Kashani remained in charge, it was a fool's errand. So long as Ren Baykara continued to press his boot to the necks of the Palaparese people, so long as executions continued and people were pulled from their homes and the fruits of Palapar's soil flowed unabated into foreign hands with precious little benefit to its people, there would be no peace. Some saw this and tried to make changes. Others saw it and tried to tighten their grip. Most, however, were blind - some willfully.

Then came Nox Arcanum: Panday, Jores the first. Those who did not will themselves to look away had seen it coming, but they were precious few. It was almost as if...well, it couldn't have been. Yet, it was. There were people at the top - the very top - who had plotted this crash course, because they believed that they could control it. They believed it would be cleansing. Had they truly been ready for the violence?

Faiskal had been missing from the Idasque when it happened. Some whispered that the queen had taken him for a lover. Others said that it was Aira who had. Some found either claim to be baseless slander against a man who had spoken softly to power and done nothing but good. Seong Ae-ra, as well, had not been present. She had been, as she often was these days, at the Queen's side. Finally, Raffaella, a heretic to some believers and a prophet to others, had found herself at the gala when knives were drawn and blood was spilled.

So it was that the palace on the hill burned and hundreds died. Its conflagration spread rapidly throughout the city, consuming all that reminded its inhabitants of Virang in a catharsis of pure anger. One by one, those houses of the wealthy were put to the torch, ships fled harbour or were ransacked, and houses of worship found themselves under siege.

For five nights and five days, this carried on, and 'The Company', as it was called, lost its grip on Ceboyan. The final nail in this coffin was the fall of Fort Limanagzi. Yet, the janissaries at the gates of the Blue Star Idasque held firm and the local converts came out to speak, and perhaps Imam Tilki had earned his house of worship enough goodwill that it was not a favoured target of many but the most radical elements of the revolution. Many would-be mobs dissipated before they could truly coalesce. A couple of bricks punched through the beautiful stained-glass windows, and a torch or two ricocheted off of the walls but, fundamentally, the idasque remained untouched.

Some who could not make it out of the city and many of those who had converted fled to the safety of its ornate but solid walls and, there, they huddled and prayed. Incense burned and soft voices could be heard. Many were stunned into near-silence. Some murmured in helpless anger. Others begged for deliverance. Some cried, the soft sound of their sobs carrying within the great echo chamber of this holy building. Maybe they cried for what they had lost. Maybe it was simply an animal reaction. Most likely, however, it was fear.

There was a mob coming, and in earnest this time.

Just as before, in those—she could almost rightly call them joyous—days, Raffaella arrived at the Blue Star Idasque whilst blended in among the crowd. This time, she wore a simple black dress. For what she was mourning, those terrified huddled locals could only speculate, given just how much had happened.

There was no time to waste for comfort, either for herself or for them, however. There was a very simple reason she was here, and it was with this mission in mind that she sought out the Imam. She beheld the Idasque burning in her dreams, and so she knew exactly where she would find him.

Yet, the mob was already here, and her dream had ended with the Imam's presumed death. If she was to do this properly, she would need to buy more time. So, she turned back to face the mob, expression solemn. "Will you consume even the innocent in your wrath?" She stood in the way, drawing only a cautionary amount of manas for now. "Allow me to evacuate the Idasque, and you may do with it as you please afterwards. This is all I will ask of you." A great swell of chemical magic descended upon the crowd in an attempt to pacify them enough so that they didn't try to kill her on the spot.

A theatre of killers calling each other foul is what this had become. How could they murder with less than a second thought? He had felt left in the dark on the greater scheme at play. His head turned towards Aira, the single person whom he could keep safe from the murderous rage of these so-called freedom fighters... Was she more in the know than him?

Not that it matter now. They had left him to a fate befitting cattle and now he only sought to return to the simple times he experienced on the isles before. On his frame was no longer the visage of the Queen, but of the simple scholar, Faiskal.

The mob was approaching and time was of the essence. He did not want to hurt these people, there has been too much of it the past days. "Why are these uniforms so... uugh." Yet it was not the time to be critiquing their attire. Their looks did come in handy, however. Using his sonic magic to have the sounds of multiple boots matching on the roads, illusory bodies moved to the beat of the march and with a little extra touches of light, the false army was finished.

They were shouting and chanting in ragged unison, their cries spilling over one another's, their rushing feet heavy on the street. The sun hung low and moody in the sky.

Amid the cacophony, few heard Raffaella's pleas. Her magic was skilled and effective but, with a capacity as low as hers, it made little more than a dent in the overall numbers of the mob.

And then there was an enemy to match them. Where this many janissaries had suddenly come from, none could say. The city was in rebel hands and had been for a few days. No major pockets of resistance remained. Yet, there they were. Perhaps they had been hiding in the idasque all along, under the guise of peaceful refugees. Perhaps there were more inside. Perhaps there was a portal open to some great Virangish city or fortress and they were streaming through, this very moment.

Regardless, the peace that the place had seemed to represent - the promise of a better and more honest kind of relationship that it claimed to be seeking - appeared to have been exposed as a lie.

So it was that the mob roiled in its fear of the small army marching towards it, and this made war against its inflamed fury and sense of urgency. If they did not stop this army here, then who would? Who could? Yet, to do so, might mean putting everything on the line for that which they believed in. Did they truly believe in it enough to die for it?

It was no use. It was never any use. No matter how she lowered her head, or her voice, or raised them, spoke many poetic or a few harsh words, whether she gave or did not give concessions, no one listened. No one ever listened to her. They heard, but did not listen—not her mother, neither friend nor foe nor neutral party. Not even Zarina.

This.

This was why power was absolute.

It was the only currency that was respected.

The only language the masses truly understood.

Something within little Raffie was breaking. Was it her heart? Was it a moral code she'd tried to adhere to until now, in spite of her better judgment? Whatever it was, it broke slowly and painfully like a bandage being removed from a partly dried wound. As it did so, she slowly drew, more and more. She drew beyond the meager 6.0 capacity her classmates knew her for, until the torches held by the first few rows of the mob were beginning to snuff out.

"That's enough. Come no closer."

Her voice was even and cold. She knew that someone had conjured an illusion, but the mob's approach had to be stopped now before they figured that out for themselves.

She stood atop the steps, the one place she could look down on them from, and did so, her face neutral and dispassionate. The girl was not so very intimidating herself, but the presence of something else—something more than human—was it a deception, or a sign given by something divine?

It worked well enough! Another visual win for the greatest lightbender the academy had even known!. Even if the mob would only be convinced for a while, every moment counted. Faiskal stared at the mob and bit his lip in utter frustration. He is not a one-man army as that boor Zarina, hells, even that avatar's strength could restrain the mob for long enough for everyone to stay safe.

He knew that just illusions weren't going to be enough to deal with this, but what else could he do? There was that lingering feeling to try and trigger the sensation he had at Kiluaho. But would he die again? Could he come back again? There were so many uncertainties, it drove him mad.

Then as he was at wit's end, he noticed a girl stand between the Idasque and the occupied mob. "Scheisse! Why would they even think about-" He had to help, yet he could not move his limbs... except away from the issue. This place really sucks worse than Escheran's heaven... All he could do was stare at the heretical air disguised as the holy.

What could they do in the face of someone more powerful than they? What might they do against someone who could crush them? None were willing to simply throw away their lives. For all of their rage, they had been trained by their prior lives to bow their heads meekly to shows of force.

Now, this habit, beaten into them sometimes literally, resurfaced. The leading edge swirled back, stumbling into those behind them. With regimented precision, the serried ranks of the janissaries came to a halt, presenting a deadly line of pikes, halberds, and muskets, mounted officers stopping beside them with swords raised. It appeared that this was where the Darhannic faith had chosen to make its stand - alongside a heretic - in the city of Ceboyan.

For a moment, they halted there, seething and shouting and working their way up to the level of courage needed to place their ideals before their lives. "Go home!" one shouted. "Out of Palapar!" screamed another. "Thieves!"

"Murderers!"

"Slavers!"

"We no want your God!"

"Go home!"

Inside of the idasque, a very different sort of scene prevailed. Imam Tilki rose from prayer as religious men and women hurried about, gathering their belongings, saving priceless tapestries and adornments, and gathering close to one of the doors. The holy waters of the fountain in the Chamber of Deep Dreams were rerouted via a valve that sent them back into the aquifer from which they had come.
How long this stalemate would last was anyone's guess, but Raffaella's and Faiskal's approach seemed to have bought them some precious time...

Just like in Kiluaho, Raffaella bore the hatred of Virang, a country she had no connection to prior to her adoption, and took the blame for their sins which she did not commit. "Are you listening now? Good. Once I've finished evacuating everyone inside, you may do as you please. The gods I serve are gods of people, not of monuments."

Once the Janissaries had formed a line, Raffaella hopped back and glided into the Idasque. She'd done all she could to cause them to hesitate for as long as possible. Already, the mob was gaining momentum in a courageous and dangerous direction right before her eyes. Her time to save the Imam was limited.

Faiskal blinked as the girl that looked like they were helping him stop the mob go back into the Idasque. "Come on little lady, why couldn't you be the one here that could cut me some slack in this place." He began to sweat, the concentration necessary to keep such a detailed illusion made up of several separate components was straining his mind.

He tried to adjust his senses to keep focus, but it did not work. Nothing worked the same in his body since he came back from that so-called heaven. Even the peers into the direct future hasn't been happening since then either. How long could he keep this up? He also had to make sure the Imam gets away safe, that the people who fed him make it out with no casualties. Come on... you're the best illusionist. The future Hugo Hunghorasz of lightbending. You can do this for at least a little longer!

It was at that moment that one of the mounted officers - who had been eerily still, suddenly leapt upwards in his saddle. In fact, he didn't so much leap as he just floated shakily up, otherwise unmoving. After a second, he was back in his saddle, but the damage was done. "Eh! What's up with him?" shouted one of the rebels, and a handful pointed. At least a couple dozen glimpsed the error before it was rectified.

Once Raffaella found the Imam, she alighted her feet upon the ground and bowed in respect. "I come bearing an oracle from Vaşdal." She smiled enigmatically.

"Don't."

She paused. "That is the entirety of the oracle, Imam," she finished, completely seriously.

The Imam walked quietly beside Raffaella. She could feel the beginnings of the weird-churning energetic surge that most often denoted the rare use of temporal magic. He clasped his hands at the small of his back. "You have succeeded in changing a fate many thought ordained," he said with quiet respect, but he shook his head. "But Vaşdal has had a greater dream and I have seen it." He nodded slowly as reality some five or six yards distant from the pair began to twist and swirl. "That dream is for you."

Outside, it was time to run. Faiskal had singlehandedly held off an entire mob of hundreds with an illusion to make even the likes of a Joao Fabio proud. It had allowed every other soul in the Blue Star Idasque to make their way towards an escape, but it was now too much to maintain.

A hooded figure in the crowd stepped forward and called it out with a sonically-enhanced voice: "It's an illusion! They've got nothing!" A good player knows when to hold 'em and when to fold 'em.

The great scholar's jaw dropped low as someone called out his artistry as a mere illusion. But it was not proper etiquette to yell at your audience when there was but one rude viewers, hence he bowed elegantly before his legs went in full sprint. "And that was all for this showing, folks! I hope you have enjoyed it!"

He had to find the Imam, to beg him to evacuate everyone as fast as possible. Next to that he had to find the important religious articles... some of which he could keep for himself, right? For who would be able to take better care of them than him, a renowned scholar. A famous figure among the people of the Idasque. Just for safekeeping, Fiske...

A portal opened.

A mob charged.

A treasure waited, locked away and unclaimed.

And amongst it all, a little girl protested, shaking her head urgently. "If you die, there will be no dream, only a nightmare. If you do this, you advance the agenda of those who signed your death warrant! What good can be done by repaying evil with kindness? Please..." she reached out with a gloved hand, as if to forcefully seize his arm, but stopped just short of actually doing it. She knew she could not afford to use all the energy she'd just drawn fighting the man she was sent to rescue.

"I am not giving up, young one." The Imam reached out and patted her fondly on the head. "I have not seen all, for I was weak and did not wish to. So, if Vaşdal dreams of my escape, then I shall, but it is a shepherd's part to protect his flock." He shook his head and the portal opened in earnest, now. Imam Tilki took a hiatus from their desperate discussion to urge people through. "Go!" he roared, "Go through! Safety waits on the other side. I took help from a Tarlonese - curse me for it, but she offered and I was loath to decline. Öjeran spares us this day and we question him not." He twisted to Raffaella as the great sound of the front gates giving way could be heard. "Only long enough for these people to get -"

"It is not Öjeran you need worry about," boomed a voice, and twenty people simply... ceased to exist under a massive kinetic crush that turned their organs to slurry and their bones to splinters. Ribbons of bloody skin trailed across the idasque's illuminated floors.

Unbeknownst to the pair who now watched in horror - "Go, girl! You have a grand destiny!" Imam Tilki shouted, "Go!" - Faiskal was one of those caught at the very edge of the crush. Only his power in the Gift saved him from a similarly grisly fate. He merely stumbled and half-fell. Whoever this was on the attackers' side, he was mighty. His ire turned in the direction of the few in the vicinity who had survived his initial onslaught.

Imam Tilki's focus turned to him.

Hearing someone else besides herself and her mother talk about her grand destiny gave Raffaella pause, if only for a moment. "Are you just saying that to encourage me to flee?" she half-asked with a smile. Her attention turned to the leader of the mob at the same time his did. "Will I find that destiny by running away..?" She asked the question to herself as much as the Imam. Until now, she did run away from all her battles, with precisely that reasoning—or excuse, perhaps—just like in Kiluaho.

There were, also, the Volti. Just what did they expect from her? They'd tried so hard not to tell her. Was it a greater fear of them than the mob that stood before her that kept her feet rooted to the spot? Whatever it was, it wasn't the frozen stance of a frightened prey animal. She stood ready to fight.

Imam Tilki said no more. He nodded and there was a surge of energy from his direction and then the walls ripped free from the hallway and slammed shut around the advancing rioters, crushing at least a dozen.

For a moment, the black-robed man, who had been caught between with the others, seemed to have disappeared with them, but it was always going to be wishful thinking. A section within the middle of the grisly sandwich began to splinter and collapse, its centre disintegrating.... inward until it imploded.

The Imam did not strain or waste any time. More people: the huddled masses - ladies in once-fine dresses, shivering clerks, praying zealots, the entire lot - funneled through. Some pushed and butted, but it remained an organized, if desperate, affair for now. Getting them through was his goal. He drew from the force of the walls' shattered remnants bursting outward. Bits of human clung to them and, as they hammered into fleeing believers and charging rebels alike (for the robed man seemed to have no qualms with friendly fire) - more joined these.

Then, Raffaella felt a pinch behind her ear, as did Faiskal and the Imam <Eyes. Close.> Moments later, there was a blinding flash in the rebels' direction. People staggered and shrieked, holding their eyes. Aira stood in the atrium, arms spread, chest heaving, and eyes blinking open. Veins bulged in her hands and face and her hair hung in great black curtains to either side.

The black-robed figure stood stalk-still, head bowed, as Aira's hands fell to her crutch handles and she made absolutely no bones about running. Then, after a moment, the monster who had casually flattened dozens and overpowered the Imam straightened. He strode forward once more, and now Raffie could feel it. The portal! Its fringes wavered and went choppy.

The portal was failing.

Any notion of the Imam being yet another hapless pacifist exited Raffie's mind with a force to match the walls as they closed in around the mob. She froze, not because the sight was too gruesome to behold, but because of the sheer shock of it.

She did not dwell on it for long. The portal was failing, and she decided that this man was the source, intent on not only destroying the Idasque but taking as many lives as possible with it. She could not overpower him, at least not alone, but she could make his advance more complicated. She could distract him from his temporal interference.

Debris thrown at the escaping crowd of believers was smacked aside with kinetic energy as she shielded her eyes from the flash. Then, she held an arcane lance in her hand and threw it right at his face. Magnetic forces carried a sleeping gas along with it that would envelop both him and the rioters when the lance was blocked. She did not expect or need the attack to succeed in stopping him for now, only to draw his attention away from the portal, and hopefully, the Imam's more impressive follow-up attack.

The magical surge that came next was... titanic. A half-dozen people collapsed, unconscious. More than one retched blood onto the floor. Others folded over or staggered from the sheer energetic pressure.

Seong Ae-Ra was stronger than most. The Tan Keoulean stumbled, one of her crutches slipping sideways, but caught herself. Blood left a single deep red line beneath her nose and she looked up to regard the man who had done it.

The portal flickered and wavered, but held. Whoever was on the other end, must've had the capacity to match their assailant? Was this a high ranking Volto?

Regardless, as Aira stared death in the face, she began to feel the strangest sort of pain: as if every piece of her body was starting to separate from that next to it, as if she were about to completely dis -

She dropped to the ground like a marionette with its strings cut as the black-robed monster turned his attention to dissipating an arcane lance. It was an effortless thing, but it shielded a clever second attack that drew his attention from his relentless pursuit forward. He stopped in place and seemed to waver for a moment. There was a surge of energy and it was clear that he was fighting off a chemical attack.

He'd win.

Yet, beating him soundly was not the goal. Around him, a half-dozen other rioters collapsed. More refugees streamed through the portal though, strangely, despite its assailant's distraction, it continued to waver just as greatly.

Imam Tilki was drawing as well, and it was not a negligible amount. Refugees streaming past him winced in discomfort, and a few crashed into others, dizzy. There was nothing he could do about that save to hope that their fellow believers would treat them with the kindness Oraf expected.

He regarded Raffaella with a strange species of respect and frustration rolled up into one. His eyes went from her to the attacker and back again, before finding Aira, as she hobbled up to where they stood. They seemed to ask a question: "Do you want to push more?"

Raffaella's eyes flicked to the Imam, meeting his gaze. "What? Are they not my flock too?" she asked, her childish voice caught somewhere between innocent and indignant. She might have pursed her lips if she weren't staring death in the face. She drew again, though without the advantage of having done so in advance, her second attack would not be as strong. She was no longer alone, however.

"I can't beat him, but all of us together can at least keep up this stalemate a bit longer." She blasted a stream of fire at the floor and hurled its rows of now-flaming pews with kinetic. They would be easily blocked, but she hoped more debris would scatter about and join the bodies of the unconscious. It would shower them with projectiles and slow their advance further with more obstacles. She sought to cause the mob to stampede over each other and become a stationary mass of tangled and helpless bodies.

Over half had made it through, to this point, and perhaps one in ten had been killed in the attacker's initial onslaught and by projectiles from the mob. It was a truly ugly scene, but with the power of all three of them combined, there was a burgeoning sense of possibility. They could do it. They could hold this guy off.

But he burst free of their magics and now there was no toying with the trio. There was no leisurely stalking forward, no confident saunter. He bolted, mowing through Raffaella's attack effortlessly, even as it scattered some of his fellow rioters. They took heart in this charge, in fact, and began to rally.

They twitched, suddenly. Some shrieked. Most writhed. Some collapsed. Tendrils of lightning twisted and danced across their forms. The hooded monster was no exception. He wavered for a second, slowing, but he was not stopped.

That was when Raffaella felt his strength for the first time. A colossal wave of kinetic energy slammed down on her from above, and it was like having something the size of a Royal Sand Wyrm dropped on her head.

If Raffaella's show of courage was more form than substance, she was still just as quick as the fleet-footed coward that cried her way through most of the Trials. In an instant, she was out from under that crushing force, but then that same force was slowing her down, as though she were flying through water instead of air, and the hooded man was gaining on her until the Imam intervened.

Oh you're a really inspiring figure, attacking the little lady first. She had no time to let the thought settle as a flank of the mob approached her with torches and rocks in their hands. Before they or the hooded man could get too close, she surrounded herself in a pillar of Marhazannet fire, bringing down part of the ceiling with it, and bolted away again. If the hooded man wanted to chase her, she would let him chase her, away from the escapees.

It was Aira, however, who found herself a target first. Their main enemy surged forward and the portal flickered. Perhaps a quarter of the refugees were left, their escape blunted by the combat, as some had passed out, others had cowered, and a stampede had, inevitably, begun.

The Tan Keoulean froze for a second and then took off backwards, hurled high towards the wall above the long hallway to the Chamber of Sacred Relics. She impacted with a great cloud of dust and falling plaster and stone. It was a good sign. Had it been her soft human body hitting something that hard, the surface wouldn't have shattered. She'd ensconced herself in some sort of kinetic bubble.

Raffie was still the target of his ire, but then... the portal winked out. A man was not able to arrest his momentum on time and was turned into threads of meat and skin that splashed messily to the floor. Others screamed and swirled around, a woman falling partially through and having her arm shredded.

Then, it flickered back to life and more people were shoved through. As Raffaella looked down at her hand for a moment, feeling static electricity build in it, she could swear that she felt a tugging from all directions...

Raffaella had the man where she wanted him, which was away from the portal. Now, if she could, it was time to make a stand, if only for a moment. If her strength was still not enough to impress, perhaps a divine power could.

She tapped into it, that strange power given to her by the yawning fish—the thresher's spine which allowed her to withstand any one attack without fail. While she did so, she cast a spell just a bit beyond her current level of study.

With an energetic gaze of deception, she aimed to make it seem as though it had been her that stopped the spell so effortlessly, rather than an outside power. She aimed to panic and stall the mob yet more, creating the illusion that she was drawing in more energy than she could, in reality. "Burn the Idasque and claim your moral victory, but this is as far as your massacre goes."

Aira was a small crumpled thing lying on the floor. The last of the refugees staggered through the arcing flickering portal. It would last for naught but a few more seconds. She would not make it, not as she was.

The hooded figure paused in his tracks at Raffaella's effortless defence of one of his most powerful spells. "No," he replied, his voice sepulchral, "Just you, Raffaella Mataraci." If he had been given pause, he was not cowed. If anything, he seemed to burn with a sudden eagerness, and he began to draw once more. "You are my obstacle and this old man is who I need to kill." He leveled a finger at Imam Tilki, even as the others around him swirled back, wise enough to avoid the certain death that awaited them should they step between two powerful mages dueling.

"Go, young one!" urged the Imam. "Go and so will I. I need only buy Aira a few seconds more!" Already the one-legged woman was rising. One of her crutches was shattered, but she limped with surprising speed on the remaining one.

The portal cut out for a split second and there was a scream as another refugee's arm and leg were splattered across the broken tiles.

Aira ran with everything that she had in her injured state. It would not be fast enough.

Raffaella blinked. "Oh? It's you," she replied blankly. A thousand thoughts tried to come to mind, but she only had time for one, and that was that Ren had seen through her ruse and, judging by his challenge, somehow knew what she intended to do as well.

Between the two of them, one had failed Osman's test, and it wasn't clear to her yet what the exact nature of the test was or which one of them had failed it. It didn't matter, for there was not enough time to think of the political implications of this clash of wills. All she could do was make a gambit to secure, at the very least, her own survival, in the face of her defiance of Osman's supposed will. After all, the Darhannic world was bigger than just the Virangish crown.

"You are a man of grand ambition indeed, Ren Baykara, if the will of the divine daughter is a mere obstacle to you," she judged.

She'd said it, then. She'd staked her claim and there would be no going back, but she had her narrative. She had just rebuffed a mage three times her strength, and it appeared nothing short of a divine miracle. What would Ren's story be—that he'd failed to apprehend the lowliest mage of the Virangish court? No. He could not let her escape here, which was why, if there was even a fraction of a second of hesitation or shock at her bold words, she bolted at the portal right then, just as the Imam urged her so.

Unfortunately for Aira, they did not have "a few seconds more." Though it had taken her the entire battle until now to notice, it was Ren's mere presence that caused the temporal instability that was the portal to stabilize. Ren was chasing Raffaella, and that meant that if she was even lucky enough to make it into the portal herself, she would be the last one through. If he, too, knew this, every moment she played cat and mouse with him was a much greater risk than she'd initially estimated. No matter how cruel the cat, all eventually got bored of playing with their food, and when he did, their escape would be cut off. She had to go now.

So, at the last moment, she would swerve into the Imam and attempt to take him with her. The impact would cost a few ribs between the both of them, but she wagered that they had both endured far worse injury before. "There is no time!" she barked. She prayed their tethered friend would assist Aira, but she could not wait out another round with Ren. He would call her bluff, exhaust the last of her strength, and it would all be for naught.

Would he acknowledge that he had been outed or remain silent in the face of the revelation? Did anyone else even hear them? "I liked you," Ren announced. "You saw things the way they were and you were useful." The rest was implied instead of spoken.

Raffie was already hurling herself into the portal, however, leaving the speeches to the arrogant. Imam Tilki cried out and stumbled as she crashed into him. "Girl, what are you -"

The portal flickered and, just as it did, a wave of kinetic energy pushed them back from diving through. It was too much! Raffaella was splitting her focus between Ren, trying to stick the landing with the Imam in tow, and the possibility of pulling Aira in after them.

She left the Tan Keoulean. There was nothing she could do. Now, however, they had lost their momentum and were stumbling on the precipice. Now, however, Ren pulled in earnest and his power was massive.

The portal faltered, and it sent shivers up Raffie's spine. She and the Imam had nearly been turned into pasta—truly a horrible fate.

She whirled around to face her pursuer. She'd hoped to save the other half of her limited divine power for whatever lay on the other side—she hardly trusted some unknown Tarlonese yasoi and whatever passed for their allies—but Ren was here and she could scarcely imagine a greater threat than him appearing out of nowhere.

Again, she was able to stop his kinetic pull and make it appear as if she'd done it with her own power. "Stubborn," she remarked. "as always." He, too, had been useful, in spite of seeing things in a warped way. She spared no more words, however, and simply grabbed the Imam and fled through the portal.

Then, she was in a clearing in the middle of a village. It was early morning, the sun just peering over the horizon and warm blue shadows stretching across the grass. Dozens of others shuffled or lay scattered about the lawn, in various states. Before her, sitting back in a state of profound exhaustion, chest heaving with her recent exertion, was a one-legged yasoi woman. Raffaella had seen her exactly once before, but she was unmistakable: Tyrel'yrash'dichora.

It was not the putative Avatar of Vyshta who addressed the girl, however. It was Dani. He was leaning forward, elbows resting on a bamboo fence. He looked Raffie up and down. He regarded the Imam, and he smiled. "Good work."

Raffaella looked up at the man and blinked. "Good night," she replied with a yawn, drifting off. The girl's exhausted response drew a few chuckles from the grateful crowd of lingering refugees. The sudden levity also drew the attention of one Solari, occupied with tending to the injured. There was only one girl she knew that could fall asleep on her feet like that. So, that's what she really looks like, beneath her 'mask.' Xiuyang frowned a bit, but she wasn't sure why. Perhaps the face was surprisingly normal, but why did she feel... disappointed by the revelation? She caught Tyrel's eye and shrugged, shaking her head a little. She had business with the girl, but for the moment, she would let her be the little hero that saved everyone. Maybe she'd misjudged her a little.

Raffie was vaguely aware of her surroundings as she leaned on the Imam for support. As her eyes lazily drifted about, she saw near her eye level little children with eyes full of the vibrant curiosity of youth. They peered from behind their parents to catch a glimpse of the person the adults were whispering about. The person who protected them, was it really her? But she was so small, just like them! Briefly, those curious glances morphed into fearful ones as Raffie wondered if they would feel the same if their parents had been able to hear her declaration over the din of chaos. She didn't allow the distortion to last long, for she had some mastery over her own dreams. She blinked slowly, like a cat, as she pondered what Ren must be thinking right now. Had he felt a sting of betrayal? Was it disappointment? Did it really matter what that swine thought? Not really, but he could cause a lot of trouble for her now. She hoped he would decide that it wasn't worth the humiliation of reporting his own failure to assassinate the Imam... because of little Raffie. ...She had humiliated him a bit, hadn't she? The thought made her smile a little.

After a short rest, she decided she'd enjoy this opportunity—perhaps her last—to just be a normal girl who did a good thing.

Amidst the chaos of the burning Idasque, as Raffaella rescues Imam Tilki and his flock of refugees, Faiskal seizes an opportunity to salvage a holy relic and save a life left for dead on his way out, leaving no victory for the rebels but for the spectacle of the Idasque itself in flames.

Palapar 4: Holy Heist!

He ran and ran, and ran. Faiskal had to find the Imam now! Something felt off as the gates were caving in to the mob’s pressure put onto it. Yet as the moment arrived when he finally stumbled upon the Imam. As he ran towards him, he could feel it… A massive surge of energy right around the point where he was standing. Sweat rolled down his forehead, this had to be an illusion. It must be! He could not be as confident as before. There wasn’t a perfect, small peek into what has yet to occur, only a feeling that something big might happen. ”There is more than the mob! We need!-..”

His mind raced, milliseconds felt like hours. Everything felt so slow, but the one thing he knew was that death was looming over him. ”..-to run.” The energy he sensed before was gone. Not just the energy, but the Imam and the whole Idasque were gone. ”Am I dead again?” His eyes raced, scanning his surroundings. It was a vast expanse of nothingness. ”No, this can’t be death. There is no tribunal present.” He shook his head.

His mind settled on the theory that he was alive, but if he was alive… what was this space? Maybe it’s an illusion! But would he be so easily tricked by those? Perhaps Arch-Zeno Fabio was his opponent, but would he really be in Palapar? Deep down the answer seemed all but obvious. But he was a Sensemaster, the Zenos told him. Yeah, WAS, you dumbass. A voice rang in his head.
You again? Even when there is nothing, you show up. The voice cackled. Fisky boy, of course I do. We’re one and the same.

The boy sighed. Look, buddy. While I love our chats, I really don’t have time for this. Even if Fiske couldn’t see it, he could feel the voice shake its head. How heartless. Even when I just saved you from certain death. Fiske grew increasingly frustrated. Just tell it to me straight!

The voice clicked its tongue. Let’s play a guessing game then. He began. You can’t use your senses like you used to.

You were about to die, and now you are here. In a world devoid of anything.

The boy put two and two together and became profusely angered. Do the gods hate me that much?! They’d rather have me fade then return to their heavens after I redeemed myself?... He ran around in an attempt to find some light, something! You won’t find anything here, and if it makes you feel any better, I’ll disappear alongside you

It doesn’t make me feel any more relieved than I already am… He responded. Just help me get out of here, okay?.

Do you not read read at all? The voice called out, frustrated. Don’t you mean we?

Just try to like, think of the Idasque or something. the voice instructed. Then, try to let yourself fall. The boy closed his eyes and let himself fall.

A thud would sound as the boy quite literally fell back into reality. The Idasque looked so different. What had happened while he was gone? A robed figure appeared to have a standoff with the Imam, but before he could act much, he felt a few pinches. As instructed he closed his eyes. Finally, after opening them once more could he assess the situation. ”A portal? What is going on? Right, the mob. Right, right, right.”

Faiskal found himself behind the action, staring at it from a wide gilded hallway. He closed his eyes and turned his back and Aira's blinding light washed over him almost without effect. When he opened them, there was a gate, beautifully embellished and magically sealed to the nth degree. What had lain beyond there, again? The Imam - or perhaps it had been his disciple, Ibrahim - had told him. It had been something valuable. It had been guarded. his mind was still scrambled. Fear and urgency and adrenaline coursed through his body.

<Fiske.> It was tethered pinch language, and had a distinctly different feeling than Aira's. He knew this feeling. He had looked forward to it on many occasions. <Holy. Treasure. Behind. Gate. You. Save. We. Benefit. You. Benefit.>

He stared at the gate, knowing well he couldn't just open it.... mostly since he already tried. It had nothing to do with stealing! He was just curious. Whilst he looked upon the guarded door, he felt another couple pinches. There were enough that he would be reminded of a overly pinchy grandmother. Ooooh, you're going to try IT again?

If I'm able to move within that space... juuust right. I might be able to find my way inside. The voice sighed. Well, don't blame me if you move there only to end up falling multiple feet from the sky. Yet the warning came unheard as the visage of the scholar disappeared once more into nothingness.

This time he knew what he was doing... mostly, but as long as he can move and leave it with much issue he could pass through the gate.

Then, he was in. He emerged facefirst into a wall, squished against it but uninjured. The chamber was surprisingly simple: little adornment: just a series of platforms plated with silver to display the holy relics, a series of benches and carpets, and an ethereal glow from an arcane-bound lantern and a series of strategically placed mirrors. Faiskal was in and, there int he very center of the room lay one of the six great relics of the Darhannic faith.

They'll thank me later. Keeping this safe might finally lead to some recognition. He stated, his paws so close to touching the relic. But... before I grab it, I should look for some potential dangers on and around here, huh? And thus he looked around while he sensed.

He wished to investigate the room further for anything strange, yet did he have the time to afford such a thing? Faiskal did not know about such parameters in the current situation, all that mattered is that he would keep this relic safe from utter destruction... or worse, looters. However, once his hands were on the relic a small glow appeared from the lantern and soon after a beam of what seemed to be light bounced off every single mirror.

The boy's form was now in a weird S shape, he was not scared of light... however the heat that radiated from it seemed deadly to anyone that touched it. Why would they make such a trap?! It's not as if someone would ever steal-. He paused, contemplating his words very carefully. He had to get rid of this lantern, that was for sure. With a heavy heart, the boy lifted a coin from his purse and with the maximum velocity slammed it against the lantern. Shattering the mechanism within.

Once the beams of light dissipated, he grabbed the relic and stood in front of the gate again. One more time into that horrid darkness... He let out a deep sigh, before jumping into that space once more.

It was not a graceful landing, but it was not a near-disaster as it had been the past few times. Faiskal stumbled into the main foyer and, in front of him lay... Raffaella bodying Imam Tilki through a flickering portal, the dark-robed man pouring all of his focus into stopping them, and the ragged remnants of the mob's leading edge picking themselves back up and engaging in looting and destruction of this sacred place.

Most importantly, however, there was a message: <Aira. Left. Running.> There was a brief pause. <Fiske. Where. You. Go. I. Not. Sense. You.> It was then that he spotted Aira, limping for the portal on a single crutch. She had clearly been injured. She would clearly not make it. The enemy had not seemed to have spotted her yet except for a handful of looters. Their eyes went her way just as the portal winked out.

The hooded man stood there for a moment, unmoving. If Faiskal made a scene, though...

The young brother looked at the destruction with utter disdain for the looters. How dare they destroy such magnificent architecture? But that was not his main issue at hand. First came the message. Such a matter could be discussed if he does not die again, but then again... would an early trip to the afterlife be better than disappearing forever?

Aira was in danger. He had to jump in, he had to help, but this figure's energy was through the roof. He could not win against such a threat, right? Not the way he is right now, but he could try to save the one from death. He cloaked himself, running up to the crutched girl. Once He was near her he began to cloak her, her arm being pulled over his shoulder. "Let's get out of here." He whispered.

And so there was no brave final stand, no brilliant ploy, nothing of the sort. In his satchel, Faiskal held one of the holiest artifacts in all of Darhanna. On his shoulder, he held up a friend and ally who had been near-inseparable from him these past few weeks. They did what they had to: He cloaked them with an illusion; she aided it. They wound their way through crumbling wreckage, a hostile mob, and at least one wall of flame.

Ren Baykara found them right near the very exit, though they did not know it was him. With two broken ribs and a wrist, a fractured collarbone, a concussion, and a missing crutch, Aira ran just about as fast as she ever had since losing her leg. Faiskal, who had found the wherewithal time and again to head off dangers as they appeared, made a guess: no matter who this man was, he would not want to tangle with the Dieci Volti Nascosti. He was right for the wrong reasons, but it didn't matter. He managed the subtlest of chemical manipulations, stoking his pursuer's paranoia, and the two of them faded into the crowd, mere meters from the monster who had been hunting them.

It was the closest-run escape imaginable, but it was complete.

Some time later, they found themselves on a hill overlooking the city. Aira had taken the time to heal her body, and whatever small wounds Faiskal had picked up as well, but she could not heal away what she had seen. She could not heal Palapar. The young woman sat in front of a bonfire in the predawn glow and hugged her knee to her chest. It was in ruins - all of it. The Blue Star Idasque: her friends, her purpose, her future. "I never imagined it would end this way," she said in a voice soft and dazed. "I believed that there was something more - something better - to people." She had cried exactly twice before in her life, but a tear slipped free of her lashes now and traced a line down her cheek. "Is there really nothing left?"

"There is something left." He slowly opened his satchel, thinking if it was for the best that he'd reveal it to her in such trying times. "I was able to recover this before they could destroy it." And in his hand was the relic, the very heart of the Idasque. "As long as this is safe, we can still hope for the better to come, no?"

For a moment, Aira merely arched an eyebrow, not quite believing Faiskal. "You could've fooled me," she replied glumly, but then the boy who did not trust people with his secrets decided to trust her, that cool Rezain morning on that hill. Aira's eyes widened in wonder and relief. "Kabir's reliquary..." How fitting that it should go to those who had been patient. She placed her head on his shoulder and wrapped her arms around him and melted into him. Faiskal, a man who had come to understand the Darhannic faith, had not saved the Blue Star Idasque. Perhaps nobody could've done so.

"Thank you," Aira whispered, as the sun rose over Ceboyan.

Kurai Majokko: Tsundere Gekido

"Am I the second or third favorite? Eh, who cares. I expect a medal with my name on it, Suki."

---

Kiyo met Nyxia's glare with lazily half-open eyes. "Oh, of course. How could I forget our most sacred duty as Kurai girls to protect the innocent. We'll just have to leave Hibusa Town and... oh. We can't, because Hibusa Town is surrounded by light fuckos," she said, idly tapping her lips with a finger as though she'd just thought of that fact herself. "Guess we'll die then," she concluded, deadpan. Her attention shifted to Suki, but her question was interrupted when the other girls arrived.

"Good day. You didn't miss much—I was just getting to the good part, about how beyond fucked we are." Her eyes regarded each of the other girls in turn, finally landing on Nyxia. "Look, I get it, you don't shit where you sleep—but they appear only when a group of people are experiencing the same intense emotion in a confined space. There's no safe way to do it. Doing it outside of Hibusa Town will just piss off more light girls, so our options are to do it here or not at all. What we need is a way to summon them on demand, at our convenience—preferably in multiple places at once, so the light girls are too preoccupied with their own problems to harass us." She looked at each of them one more time before slouching even deeper into her chair and burying her face in a newspaper. "Or one of us goes and files a workplace safety complaint to our dear leader, the Queen of Darkness. Any takers?" she asked, her voice dripping with casual sarcasm.

She expected the others to blame her for this. After all, she was the one who somehow ended up in the one place Rei told them to never go, and now girls from the City of Light were stalking Hibusa Town's alleys like they owned the place. Why wouldn't they? It was easier than pointing the finger at themselves for blowing up a beach—with, to be fair, zero casualties. Even she had to admit that was pretty impressive. Yet, it was short sighted, but she did not blame them. Rei was the one who'd never told them about giga misera—and she wouldn't let her say she didn't know. She was the one who slowly fed them worthless scraps: the hordes that came at night. She was the one who'd allowed them to get comfortable in Hibusa Town, almost devoid of light girls. At times, it was possible to forget they even existed. Why would they worry about some light girls crashing their beach vacation? No matter how she looked at it, Rei's poor leadership was to blame. Was she out of line for thinking so? Was she simply jealous of her power, fantasizing as she did of how she'd put it to better use?

The Hourglass Order

Palapar III - Rendezvous

---

---

The island of Tabu was a remote and wild place, far out to sea between Palapar and Avalu and in political limbo because of it. Politically, the island was part of the former, but it had traditionally been claimed by the kings of Avalu in years past. It was small and mountainous and north of the major trade lanes. Hence, it was not the sort of place that saw visitors... until now.

Two ships sheltered in a small cove as stormclouds gathered overhead. Revidian and Tarlonese, their vastly different designs and wary distance from each spoke to the fact that they were not allies, but the fact that neither had fled or fought seemed to indicate that they were not enemies either.

A gentle rain began falling, wrapped in a cool wind. The air was fresh but heavy: thick and damp but somehow invigorating. It was midday but it may as well have been approaching sunset.

That was just as well. Both ships were here as much for another reason as they were for the storm. In fact, this cove had become something of an open trade secret among those who plied this route. They called it various names in their various languages, but all equated to something roughly similar: The Last Anchorage. Between Tabu and the tangled coasts of Palapar, there was no other place where a blockade runner was safe from the Virangish navy or their Torragonese allies.

Both anchored here as the sky darkened for precisely that safety, and yet... a lookout on one had spotted a ship in the distance with heraldry of red, white, and gold. The Torragonese were snooping. Danger was near.

The familiar creaking sounds of the ship soothed Xiuyang's nerves. The muffled sounds of rain outside were pleasant. If it weren't midday, sleep would come easy. Instead, she was preoccupied with her reading.

—for if an entire people were to believe that the sky is falling because a prophet declared it, would not their way of life change such that the atrophy of that society would be inevitable? Why invest in the future if there is none? So you see, it is not the gods that shape the future, but the faith itself. It is the collective consciousness that determines the prosperity of a nation.

The essence of the divine no longer walks incarnate upon the earth, but in this age, the power to cut one's own cloth and weave one's own future is given to those who believe. If the gods exist, it is in a form wherein their power to perform miracles is contingent upon the acting faith of mortals. To fools, who preach that a man has faith because a god has acted on his behalf, this is known as a heresy called "reverse causality." I call it "Idealized Magic;" that is, magic that manifests itself as a consequence of spreading the ideals once embodied by the gods, who are no longer with us.

For if an entire people were to unite in purpose at the behest of a prophet, how does this differ from bending the manas of an entire nation to one's command? This, I argue—

"What are you doing?" Maria interrupted.

"Reading," Xiuyang replied nonchalantly.

"That old ledger? You're not supposed to read that out in the open, you know."

Xiuyang closed the book—a small, blue leather bound book, with a cavalier hat on the front. "It's the autobiography of a certain Virangish sage who traveled a lot."

"Another dusty old book from one of those dusty old crones you idolize. Most women are happy to stay in one place their whole life, so long as it's... civilized. You should get your head checked... and come move this cargo with the rest of the boys," she sneered.

"She has some eccentric ideas about the Darhannic faith. ...I found them interesting," she replied blithely. "Why do I have to move cargo? Aren't you too important for that kind of work, daughter of Solari?"

"I didn't ask what the old crone blathered on about. You're just the third daughter. Know your place. If that boyfriend of yours gets to handle Company affairs, it'll be because I like him and I allowed it." Her smirk widened. "Now get your fat ass out here. The Torragonese are coming."

Xiuyang stowed the book away in her medicine box and stood up lazily. "You seem chipper."

"Why wouldn't I be? I get to watch those knife-ears lose their shit. As for us... it doesn't matter whether the ship that delivers the goods is Revidian or Torragonese. We benefit either way. In fact, it doesn't matter who wins this war. We are Rettanese. We have friends in Virang and Torragon. We profit until both of them are drained dry, and then we go home with our riches. ...I guess you'll be sad if Revidia is razed to the ground though, since your boyfriend is there."

"So you noticed. I'm so flattered." Xiuyang pushed past her condescending elder.

So rude... You think I don't see you batting your eyes at him? Too bad, he already knows our secret, you bitch. Don't you dare... Xiuyang fumed as she moved their cargo to the deck, where it would be easier to "confiscate" —or toss overboard, should it prove necessary.

Her interest was piqued as her eyes drifted over to the Tarlonese ship. Isn't that... Her eyes met with the yasoi. She covered her mouth, thinking it might make her more recognizable at a distance.

She'd been awkward on the pitching deck: unbalanced. Perhaps it was a microcosm of her current life. Perhaps there was no metaphor to it. Regardless, she was happy that the rocking had ended.

The clouds mumbled vague threats of thunder and the crystalline water shimmered only faintly under a veil of grey. Still, it was that right mix of warm and cool. Still, the sand was a perfect pearly gold powder: soft and light between her toes, accommodating yet firm. She was Tyrel'yrash'dichora and, where others may have perceived a threat to their lives, she would surely not. These people were as insects compared to her power.

Dozens of eyes were on the Avatar of Vyshta as she made her way towards the Revidian galleon, and a handful of rifle sights as well. It was all rather bizarre out of context. Two ships of different designs and nations moored standoffishly in a single cove, not a soul having stepped free of either save this solitary one-legged woman. Her pants were rolled up to her knee and she waded at a rather leisurely pace until the water began creeping up her thigh. After a brief pause, she lifted free of its grasp and hovered there, some thirty yards from the San Cristoforo and one hundred from the Etuulano'iisca.

She took only a moment to consider her words, having been given ample time by her earlier beachfront stroll. "Is that a Solari flag I see on that ship?" she inquired. "Might there be a Solari to go with it?"

Xiuyang lowered her scarf and smiled. "You're in luck. There's a two-for-one deal today. Though, one of them is rotten."

"Don't denigrate yourself like that, dear sister. It's poor form." Maria emerged from below, blunderbuss in hand. "That's a close enough distance to admire your betters from. What business do you have with the captain of this ship?"

Suddenly, Xiuyang reached her hand out and yanked the firearm from her sister's hands, pulling her forward onto her knees. There was a kinetic whizzing and the clanging of metal. The arms dealer watched in scandalized fury as the mere jewelry peddler disassembled her weapon into its individual parts and dropped them on the deck. "How dare you?!" she screeched.

"The leader of a company of yasoi has come over to speak to a company of huusoi. If you cared to know anything about what that means... She doesn't care who's 'in charge.' I'm the strongest huusoi here. Far as they are concerned, that makes me both the captain of this ship and the head of the Solari household." Xiuyang didn't look at Maria, but there was a smirk on her lips. She was enjoying this. "Be a good girl and stay out of the way."

Furious, Maria scooped up the remains of her toy and fled below decks. The crew had mixed reactions. Some lowered their rifles with little surprise on their faces, but others seemed terrified that the chain of command had collapsed because two powerful mages wanted to speak. "How goes the war, suunei?" she asked, as casually as one might ask "how's life?" She beckoned Tyrel aboard.

The moment that Maria spoke, a half-dozen rifles aboard the Etuulan'iisca trained themselves on her form. The moment that Xiuyang made a fool of her, titters and wheezes could be heard from aboard the graceful ship. They were not so very far apart, after all.

Following a few more exchanges, the Avatar of Vyshta floated gently over and alighted on board. "Well enough that they want me out of the way and doing the same thing I assume you are here." Tyrel's eyes darted around the deck and she flashed her best nonthreatening smile. "Thank you for having me aboard," she announced, with a gentle inclination of her head. A bit more quietly and with a slight wrinkle of her nose, she added, "Is that creature truly your sister?"

Meanwhile, there was a slight break in the clouds, rendering the water, the jungle, and the ship's deck alike speckled with sunlight. It was accompanied by an incongruous rumble of thunder and the hooting of monkeys somewhere in the trees. The distant sails of the Torragonese man o' war brightened and shimmered under the sun, closer than they had been earlier. This pair of old friends had perhaps five to ten minutes to catch up.

"So Tarlon has useless politicians now, too. My condolences." Xiuyang sighed. "Yes, it's sadly true. She is my blood. Feel bad for me. Actually, wanna take her on a tour of Yarsoc sometime?" The crew of the ship, which appeared to now be hers, seemed oblivious to the meaning behind the suggestion. "No, no, I'm only joking. Actually... no, I'm joking. I hope you were thinking of me when you were taking out their trash, though." She smiled a bit ruefully. She wondered if maybe it made her a bad person.

"If I start owing you any more favors, it might become a problem, even for me. How about I help you out? We might be able to make the cove look convincingly empty if we start on it right now."

Tyrel smiled, almost... puckish, at the comment, but her expression soon turned as rueful as Xiuyang's. "That bad, huh?" She shook her head and took a half step, a bit of that yasoi restlessness showing through. "I'd lend you my sister, but trading a treasure for a turd hardly seems fair, no matter how much I like you." The playfulness was back, but something still wasn't quite right.

The one-legged woman seemed an awkward thing on the deck of the San Cristoforo, very unlike the graceful figure Xiuyang had previously known. Regardless, she continued. "We could fool the Torragonese, I suppose, though my Etuulan'iisca is but a humble fishing boat. Is not yours something totally mundane as well?" Her eyes slid across the gathered crew and back to Xiuyang, and there was something about the movement that made her think of... Miret! It was her face, as well! While the two bore an uncanny resemblance to each other, save a missing leg, they were not exactly the same. "What have we to fear, then?" she concluded meaningfully, their gazes meeting.

Xiuyang blinked and cocked her head, appearing to question if she herself were quite sane. It wasn't immediately apparent why. "I suppose, nothing," Xiuyang replied blankly. Now, she was quite certain of what Tarlon appeared to be doing here. Interfering in human affairs was quite the paradigm shift, and she wasn't quite ready to decide how she felt about it. She'd decided that Tyrel probably believed in those good intentions Tarlon claimed to have, but their "leaders?" If this was how they were treating Tyrel, then...

Xiuyang pulled over a crate and wove together some spongy material for them to sit on, making a show of ensuring she was comfortable—but, it was really just an excuse to get closer. "Then... what can I do to really help you out? Miss Avatar." She watched the Torragonese man o' war approach as she whispered, wearing an enigmatic smile.

It was nothing so obvious as a sonic bubble. In fact, it was a spell far more advanced: a sonic bend. People who made a point of listening in would hear the pair speak, but not their true words. Truly, was this Tyrel? The missing leg seemed, neither, to be an illusion; it was a genuine amputation.

"I can maintain this for perhaps a minute before people catch on," the Avatar said. "All of this is a ruse, Xiuyang, as I'm sure you're aware - at least in part." She mimicked laughter with her body language but continued, dead serious. "The Torragonese confiscate our cargo but it reaches its destination anyhow." She nodded as she spoke, the contrast between words and action uncanny. "Most everyone in Tarlon believes in the rightness of what we do, but there is a rot at the very heart of our society that only exploits and will undermine all of our good work in time. Laugh as if I've just said something funny."

She brushed some hair from her face. "The people aboard my ship are my captors. They're watching me and ensuring that the Avatar of Vyhsta is dumped ashore, to be caught and humiliated later, to have no contact with the legions of soldiers in the Liberated Lands who chant 'Dichora'. I could kill them, but then I would be killed. I'm not strong enough yet." She pretended to consider something, expression lighthearted. "There is a plan in place to sneak me out. I assume that this was a routine stop for you. I'm sorry you got roped into this mess. Just play innocent and it'll pass you over." She sighed and nodded and the magic disappeared. "For what it's worth, it is good to see you, though. I'll be sure to tell my sister as well. Oh," she added, "and whatever you want to do about our Torragonese friends, I'll follow your lead!"

Xiuyang laughed when Tyrel told her to. Truthfully, it wasn't difficult. To hear that there was corruption in the Tarlonese government didn't surprise her, and the only valid reactions were to laugh or cry. So, she made the easy decision to laugh, because this was not Tyrel, her friends were aware and actively fighting against the political rot, and the correct people were to become the punchline in all of it. There was an unfeigned spark of joy in her laughter as she nodded along to the rest of what she had to say.

"The funniest part is, we're doing the same," she whispered with the tone of someone letting another in on a joke. "Revidia, Torragon, ReTan... they're all Solari hands, anyway." She waved hers dismissively, smile full of mischief. "Trade by any other name is still trade." She turned back toward the Torragonese man o' war, flipping her hair. "Yes. I'm glad to finally meet you again. To be honest, I'm relieved to find that this kind of... pardon the expression, 'humanitarian' work isn't beneath you. You're still the same person who went out of her way to rescue little ol' me." Xiuyang's enigmatic smile returned.

"I'm happy to hear that," the Avatar of Vyshta responded, "and I'm sure my sister will be too. It's all a family endeavour." She rose and cast about, eyes settling on the ship. "Now, much as I'd like to stay and chat longer, I'm afraid my crew will expect me back before our... company arrives." She twisted on the spot and flashed a smile. "It was good seeing you, Xiuyang and, who knows, maybe we'll find ourselves in the same boat sooner than we'd think."

With that, the Torragonese ship, now well in view, began furling its sails and coming to a stop as it navigated the mouth of the cove. it would be mere moments before anchors dropped and boats were prepared. In theory, even as the Tarlonese representative disappeared from the deck of the San Cristoforo, a boarding announcement should've been coming at any moment...

The woman sat back in her chair, brushing her fiery red hair away from her blue eyes. Sea travel had its unrelenting way of leaving everything just a little bit dishevelled, from hair tossed by the wind, clothes rumpled by the sway and roll of the ship. Still, Ayla carried herself with practised ease, as though she were unbothered by such trivialities. She unfolded a napkin at her side, revealing a powdered Lion’s Mane mushroom. Carefully, she poured the powder into her steaming mug of coffee. She swirled the mug, the dark liquid sloshing as it mixed, before she took a deep, deliberate sip.

The meaty texture of the mushroom was an acquired taste, but one she had long since grown accustomed to. After all, there was a reputation to uphold. Arslan women were known for their sharpness, and their ability to stay one step ahead of friend and foe alike. Staying alert, focused, and unshakable was a vital part of that legacy.

She glanced toward the sound of muffled voices just beyond the door. The chatter was louder than usual, and there was a tone of tension that drew her attention. Before long, there was a sharp knock at her cabin door. Ayla set the coffee down, already reaching for her long blue jacket as the messenger entered hastily.

"Señora, sorry to disturb-"

But Ayla was already on the move. She strode past the young man with a nod, her jacket swirling behind her as she ascended to the deck. “So,” she began, her voice dripped with dry humour, “we have a sale on in the cove: buy one, get one free.” The corners of her mouth twitched upward in amusement at her own joke, though her gaze remained fixed ahead to their destination.

She walked to the railing, her boots clicking softly on the polished wood of the deck. Once there, she stopped and raised her hands, forming a box with her thumbs and index fingers as if framing the scene below. “The caption would read: ‘Tarlon’s and Revidia’s secret tryst under the moonlight.’” She tilted her head and moved her hands slightly, mimicking the act of capturing the best angle for a mental picture. “If only there were a way to preserve and transmit this moment,” she mused, shaking her head, “it would do so much good for the cause.”

The messenger, Ruban, hovered nearby, clearly unsure how to respond. He squinted toward the scene in the cove. There were two ships, one Tarlonese, the other Revidian, nestled suspiciously close together under the shadow of the cliffs. To him, it might have seemed like nothing more than an unusual coincidence.

“Ruban,” she said sharply, snapping him out of his stupor. “Pass the message. Announce our arrival and have the men prepare the cannons.” She turned her head slightly, the faintest hint of mischief gleaming in her eyes. “If they so much as think about raising an anchor without permission...” She extended her hand, forming her fingers into the shape of a gun, and whispered, “Pow.” The almost girlish giggle that followed appeared chillingly out of place, and Ruban swallowed hard before scurrying off to relay her orders.

The man-o-war slid gracefully into position, its imposing hull blocking the cove’s narrow entrance. The sound of horns blared, a fanfare of authority that echoed off the cliffs. On deck, a Torragonese officer began ceremonial flag signalling, relaying the order for the two other ships to prepare for the arrival of a boarding party.

The ship’s crew moved swiftly, lowering a small rowboat into the water. Ayla stepped aboard, her commanding presence unmistakable as she positioned herself at the head. Her red hair gleamed in the pale light, cascading down her back like a fiery waterfall, and her long buttoned blue uniform coat was both practical and elegant. It fell just above her knees, revealing a hint of black leggings tucked neatly into polished leather boots.

She was flanked by a team of rowers, who began to propel the small vessel toward the ships. Their first target was the Revidian vessel, that was no doubt carrying cargo of questionable legality. The tension in the air was palpable, but Ayla remained calm, the faintest smirk playing at her lips. She was a predator, a Lion sizing up her prey, and she intended to enjoy every moment of the hunt.

Now, you come to me with earnest please, thought the Avatar of Vyshta. She had alighted on the deck of the Etuulan'iisca mere moments before the trumpets. Count on the Torragonese to conduct themselves with such over-the-top dramatic flair. Her jailors had started begging for their vith'doi, their etuulan, their dichora. They weren't throwing themselves at her feet - foot - quite yet, but they may as well have been by the urgency of their entreaties.

She felt for some of the lower echelons: green recruits, her age or younger and genuine believers in the sanctity of this 'mission'. The others were creatures, and how easily Tyrel'yrash might've crushed them. Alas, the one-legged woman would at least enjoy watching them squirm.

She settled her stump upon the gunwale and crossed her arms as she observed the display. The idiot crew were working frantically to cover up signs that this was a ship of importance. Only Captain Aldenraax and a few key personnel were in on the deeper plan, and none were in on her plan - the only one that truly mattered. Any of them could scupper it with but a misplaced word or action. This could all go south so easily.

For a moment, she nearly got a cold foot. There was a Venomhand - she could smell his blood type - who might decide to be a hero. There were eager young sailors who'd lay down their lives for the goddess. The cache she'd built in Yarsoc and Parmoy now permeated much of the lower reaches of the Tarlonese command structure. 'Finally,' they rejoiced, 'an Avatar of Vyshta who was not just some pretty tripod who waved and smiled and never did much of anything.' She managed an ironic smile at that, but her mind was afire. Please stick to the fucking plan, she urged them inwardly, Or I'll be stuck like this - stuck forever.

They were busy turning the etuulan'iisca into a Tarlonese trawler, of the sort that popped up from time to time in regions such as these, usually just outside of a nation's claimed waters, harvesting the bounty of their shoals. Some aboard hinted that she might blast away those subyasoi desert rats with her awesome power. Some of those were her jailors, but most were the dupes. She watched the boats lower and Ayla step into one, so wonderfully playing the role Dami had now assigned her. She headed first for the galleon, and the Avatar had no intention of doing anything, not unless it should become necessary.

Xiuyang winced at the echoing bellow of the trumpets. Maria re-emerged from below decks, making a twisting motion with her finger against her ear. "They can't do anything quietly, can they? Fucksake." Maria glanced overboard at the approaching redhead. "Looks like she's not a knife-ear. Guess that means I'm in charge here." She jabbed her sister's thigh with the butt of her prized, state of the art rifle, knocking her down. "You ever do that again, I'll kill you. I'm serious as a heart attack. I can still hear their infernal snickering," she hissed. "I just saved your dumb ass!" Xiuyang hissed back.

Maria jerked her head, motioning for a member of the crew to throw a rope ladder overboard for Ayla to climb as she composed herself and prepared to bring her rosebud manas to bear on this situation. Her sister was as hopeless a case as the yasoi, and the crew's impressions of her personality held no weight, but it wouldn't do to have someone of Arslan pedigree see her in a bad light. "Maria Solari welcomes you aboard the San Cristoforo, señora Arslan. It is a pleasure, Ayla darling," she added, much less formally. "I've heard so much about you from my sister, Salome?" She said her name as if asking if Xiuyang was a memorable person to Ayla. Xiuyang, for her part, was quite sweaty and disheveled. "Good day, Ayla," she offered, with much less pomp.

As Ayla approached the Revidian vessel, a rope ladder was lowered over the side. She grasped the wooden rungs firmly, her boots pressing against the hull as she climbed aboard with practised ease. Once on the deck, she patted herself down, brushing off the faint traces of seawater that clung to her coat.

A wide smile spread across her face as she was greeted by the Mistresses of the ship. “No, no, thank you. The customary bread and salt will do,” she said with a polite nod, as she dismissed the offer of salami. She waved it off gracefully before turning her gaze to sister. “It’s good to see you as well, Xuiyang.”

A part of her was quietly amused at the sight of the two women, especially the stark contrast in their attire and demeanour. The difference was striking, yet somehow it seemed to reflect the curious partnership between them, the brains and brawn of the operation? Still, Ayla quickly refocused, and caught herself before her thoughts wandered too far.

“You can imagine our surprise,” she began, her voice light and teasing, “at finding a Revidian vessel sheltering so cosily beside a Tarlonese one. We do hope we didn’t disrupt anything with our sudden appearance.” She let out a soft, playful giggle and added a wink, as if sharing an inside joke with the pair. “Of course, it’s only a tease. We know you would never consort with them. Why, you’d have likely fired upon us to keep such a little tryst a secret.”

Her tone carried an edge of playfulness, but her expression remained disarmingly friendly, even as her words probed for any reaction. Behind her, several Torragonese guards began to climb aboard from the rowboat, their presence a silent reminder.

Ayla turned back to the Mistresses, her tone softening as she spoke again. “Would you be so kind as to offer us a tour of your fine vessel? It’s not every day one gets the opportunity to step aboard a proud Solari ship.” She gestured casually to the surrounding deck.

"...Whut?" Maria replied, not getting the pun. Xiuyang snorted, but didn't seem amused. "Bread and salt? At least take a handful of biltong, my dear." She looked at Xiuyang as if to say, "hop to it."

"Fire upon our fellow Torragonese? We would never do something so crass. Your presence is quite welcome, in fact. Relaxing with their sort around is like trying to sleep when you know there's a spider."

"At least a spider keeps the mosquitoes at bay," Xiuyang remarked as her sister and guest followed her below decks.

"Too true, dear sister! I would much rather sleep with a spider than a yasoi, wouldn't you?" she remarked back with a smirk. In less polite company, she might have dug more deeply into the implication behind those words.

Xiuyang offered Ayla some strips of dried, salted meat. The spices were simple yet exotic. Nothing but the height of luxury for sisters Solari, it seemed. As they toured the vessel, it became pretty clear that all the cargo which was intended to be sold was already on the top deck. Luxuries for the girls aside, everything kept below was essential to the art of sailing and running a crew, only noteworthy in its mundanity. "That is about all there is, my dear. It is nice to have respectable company during this spot of rain, but we really have little else to entertain you with."

Ayla smiled warmly, nodding along as she listened attentively throughout the tour. “You run a very tight ship,” she remarked with genuine-sounding admiration, as she worked the charm. “It’s good to see such expertise out here on the open seas.”

As they returned to the deck, her gaze drifted toward the assembled items already prepared for transportation. With practised ease, she pulled a parchment from her coat and began jotting something down with a quill. “So, these are all the rice shipments destined for Palapar, then?” she asked, tapping the side of one of the crates lightly with the feathered end of the quill.

She nodded to herself before continuing, “As you know, the embargo doesn’t permit Revidian ships near the islands. Don’t worry, we’ll take excellent care of them on your behalf.” She offered a reassuring smile. With a subtle gesture, she signalled one of the guards, who immediately stepped forward to begin preparations for moving the goods, and the quiet efficiency of the Torragonese soldiers left little room for dispute.

Turning back toward the sisters, she fixed her attention on Xiuyang in particular, her smile softening into one of disarming charm. “Your presence here is most fortunate,” she said smoothly. “We hoped to have your assistance in a delicate matter. Perhaps your expertise with the Yasoi could help make them a little… more amicable for what needs to happen next?”

She paused briefly, allowing her words to settle before adding with a subtle tilt of her head, “Naturally, you shall be well rewarded for your efforts.”

Maria smiled pleasantly, or perhaps venomously, or perhaps she was only feigning the latter. She made no moves to stop what was happening, especially the part where Xiuyang was leaving her ship. To be sure, it was her ship, and she intended to own Ayla's compliment, and nothing would make her ship more tightly run than removing their biggest wildcard.

Xiuyang blinked. "Sure," she replied simply. It didn't make much sense, for a multitude of reasons, but it's not as if Maria or her crew knew that, nor needed to. Indeed, perhaps it was better that they didn't. Maybe Ayla had other intentions, or just wanted to talk without the bitch taking the wind out of their sails. Her face settled into an easy smile once she had descended the rope ladder, but she didn't say anything yet. She would let Ayla speak first.

Ayla smiled broadly as she settled into the boat alongside Xiuyang, letting out a little squeal of excitement. “Isn’t it terribly thrilling, meeting like this?” she said, her voice light. “Just imagine, running into our classmates out here in the real world, as it were.” She gave Xiuyang a playful nudge with her elbow, her grin widening. “Of course, that kind of situation has its perks… especially like this one.”

She gestured toward the Tarlonese ship, her tone growing more thoughtful. “Our friend, the Avatar of Vyshta, Tyrel herself, is supposed to be on that ship. She’s the leader of the Tarlonese in this area.” Ayla paused for a moment, searching for the right words. “We need to convince her not to… well, let’s say, not to go Ingrid on us.”

"Y'yash'cud'op ya leth pa'laaz!" Shouted the lookout, retracting his spyglass. "Pa thelo nar'op ya tox tuum," he added.

"Elii?" the 'goddess' prodded, using arcane bending to magnify what she saw.

"Pa yaya," the sailor called back, "Pa taca el'dii'pen duul elaaz."

"Liin," she replied. Xiuyang was... something like a friend. Her sister most definitely was not.

"Nax'etuulan," came the captain's voice, "Yim pa thiilo rey luum vem'al." He bowed stiffly at the waist. Of course, she knew that she was supposed to decline the offer and assure them that whatever happened was the will of fate, so that was what she did. "Qitoip, Aldenraax'tando, cip luum voi'it thuula liing pa weiluu p'edya." Protests and entreaties alike died on the lips of more than a handful of others. The Avatar of Vyshta nodded approvingly and made to prepare herself for their arrival.

Xiuyang watched Ayla's facade melt away like so much warm butter, and she savored the moment as though it were exactly that. "Having the next generation of leaders socialize young is a good way to promote peace. I don't think it's an exaggeration to say that Ersand'Enise might be the most important place in the world for maintaining that careful balance. I hope these chance meetings continue to be on good terms."

Of course, "perks" also included the opportunity to use old friends for one's own gain, but it was a little early to wax so cynical. This was the sweet and innocent Ayla, and an ally of Tyrel she was dealing with. The latter had even declined the offer for a favor, ostensibly.

...Oh. She'd forgotten to play innocent and wait for this to blow over, didn't she? How easily Ayla had tempted her into action with the promise of reward. She was almost a little embarrassed. "Tyrel, huh? Interesting. But you know the Tarlonese care even less for 'tree-riders' than Constantian yasoi, right? I'm happy for this chance to talk to both of you, but I'm afraid my 'expertise' is of little use to you. Actually, I owe Tyrel my life, remember?" She pointedly ignored the remark on Ingrid. She had recently been attacked by a demon who had stolen Xiuyang's likeness, and it would be in bad taste to have a joke at her expense.

“Peace? Good. We knew we liked you.” Ayla offered a playful smile as the rowboat cut through the water, its oars rising and falling rhythmically. “That’s exactly what’s on the line here. A historic peace between Torragon and Virang.” She raised a finger to her lips and leaned in slightly, as though sharing a secret. “But don’t speak its name above a whisper, for there are those who would crush such beauty under the weight of an iron fist.”

“The great powers are balanced on a seesaw, each perpetually moving away from the other to maintain a fragile balance. But the danger lies in the beam breaking under the strain, then conflict becomes inevitable. Yet,” she added, her eyes flicking back to Xiuyang with a hint of cleverness, “moving apart isn’t the only way to balance the scales. There’s another option: we meet them in the middle.”

She tilted her head slightly, the edge of a grin returning. “Virang is like a rich man clutching his jewels, its greed knows no bounds, and it guards its treasures with a ferocity matched only by its need for self-preservation.” Ayla clicked her tongue, shaking her head lightly. “Virang has no desire to part with its pearls. And that, my new friend, creates a very interesting opportunity.”

Her hands lifted, palms facing each other as though weighing invisible scales. “Both sides are evenly matched. Guns for guns, mages for mages. No clear advantage on either side. And for Virang, the cost of war far outweighs any potential benefit.” She smirked, her voice taking on a light, conspiratorial tone. “As our dear Maura so eloquently puts it, the price of peace is at an all-time low, it’s practically wholesale. Now is the perfect time to sit down, stamp out an agreement, and bring an end to this looming conflict between our nations. We just need to play nice until the ink is dry, and then a new chapter can begin: one where Torragon and Virang choose peace over war.”

Ayla turned her attention to the Tarlonese vessel they were approaching and gestured toward it with a graceful flick of her wrist. “Which brings us to our current predicament.” Her voice lowered slightly, though it still carried a note of amusement. “According to our information, Tarlonese High Command isn’t too fond of our friend Tyrel. She’s got a little too popular with the riff-raff, as they're practically worshipping her. They’d prefer her rotting in some Virangish prison, or worse, while they find another Avatar of Vyshta to fill her boot. But we have a better idea.”

Her smile widened, sharp and cunning, like a Cheshire Cat’s. “We need to convince her that coming with us, as a free woman, is in her best interest, not as a prisoner of war, not as a pawn in their game. And that’s where you come in.” Ayla’s gaze softened, and her tone grew warmer, and coaxing. “Your bond is perfect. You look like someone who keeps her word, and Tyrel knows you well enough to trust this isn’t some elaborate ruse. She’ll see this for what it is: an opportunity to help her escape their trap, and to protect herself. She can use this to play a role in something far greater than the fate offered to her.”

Ayla gave a friendly, cheerful wave to the Yasoi watching them from the rowboat. “You want in?” her tone light as she turned back to Xiuyang, and added with a mischievous grin, “Your family has quite the network of trade connections with Torragon. We could insist on you being their representative.”

Her gaze dropped to Xiuyang’s worn, dirty overalls, and she shook her head with a mix of bemusement and disbelief, “Your talents are clearly being squandered.”

Xiuyang listened intently, weighing Ayla's words, but without the gesticulating of the other girl. "Yes, making war more expensive than peace is a sound plan," she replied, pretending that she previously had no role in any such endeavor, for she could not afford to make such an admission, even to a presumed friend in Ayla. "A merchant's means and ends are the same in the end. Our greatest enemy is the almighty ledger. Virang adopting this mindset wouldn't be so bad."

Xiuyang made a point of re-checking that, between the three of them, at least one of them had the presence of mind to lend some privacy-enhancing sonic magic to their conversation. "But if it's like you say with Tarlon, it's not as simple as just sailing away into the sunset. They will call her a deserter and she will lose support. Their leaders must at least have the appearance of getting what they want. It will keep them complacent and predictable, because at the end of the day, they don't want to crush morale completely. They will have fewer protests if they can try to pretend that their new avatar is only a temporary replacement. They will set themselves up to either be forced to accept her return, or else betray the one true Vyshta, showing the people who they really are. Checkmate."

“That’s why we might have to fight her,” Ayla said, shaking her head from side to side with an exaggerated sigh. “But considering how strong she is, it might be more convincing if it’s the two of us.” She grinned widely, her expression almost too casual, like someone who had just signed Xiuyang up for a death wish without a second thought.

When they arrived after they had both spoken all they needed to say, Ayla tapped her nose, signaling a shift in the conversation. “...And the sound of these monkeys reminds me of that tall, red-haired friend of yours.”

Xiuyang didn't seem too concerned about her safety, for some reason. But then, it was like she suddenly realized something. "Oi, oi. I have a reputation to uphold, too. I can't be seen betraying the avatar of Vyshta like that!" she hissed. "Kiss all the good will I've worked so hard to earn goodbye, for what? Are you offering me half of Torragon?" she whispered urgently.

But the Tarlonese vessel was upon them, now, and they would have to think on their feet. "Oh, I'm sure these fellows are gentlemen compared to him!" she japed back good-naturedly, though her face betrayed a hint of irritation.

There was no ladder offered. There were rifles trained on them. Energy levels spiked: a warning from the yasoi that they now entered the mouth of the dragon and had best step lightly lest they cause it to bite.

The flank of the large craft loomed above them, its graceful lines scarce disguised by some recent and hasty work. Its gunports stood open. The captain did not step forward. there was the distinct sense that they were unwelcome to the very precipice of open hostility.

Then, suddenly, a familiar face appeared over the gunwale. The woman who wore it was dressed in sheer flowing white and black silks, her blue-green eyes bright and piercing and... more than a bit wary despite the hidden friendliness behind them. "Oira, heicoex," she greeted. "joith ya zexii, cip joi'hiing leth joio'aruuz duul pa seiluu."

An unctuous-looking man in an officer's uniform translated in heavily-accented Avincian. "Her radiance, the Goddess Fortuna, greets you and decrees that you are welcome aboard, but you must leave your weapons in your boat." A particularly close look might've revealed the hint of a blush on the divine one's face. "You have my personal promise that no harm shall come to you unless you should first bring harm to us." She glanced over her shoulder at the captain, who merely scowled.

The yasoi would not have to wait long. Xiuyang was the first to comply, placing Ahn-Dami's Second Chancers on the bench next to her. "Unless her radiance the goddess Fortuna requires that I forego this mortal coil and be with her in spirit, these are all the weapons that I can leave behind." She smiled pleasantly.

Ayla was just about to declare that they didn’t have any weapons when Xiuyang began placing her guns on the bench. Her whisper came out as an exasperated hiss: “Wait, you brought a weapon? Now we look suspicious for not bringing one.”

She glanced around quickly, then an idea struck her. With a theatrical wave of her hand, she gestured toward the man-o-war looming behind them. “Mine is that one over there,” she said, grinning as the flag bearer aboard the Torragonese vessel awkwardly waved back, clearly unsure what the gesture meant.

Ayla turned to Xiuyang, leaning in to whisper conspiratorially, “You know consoi, don’t you? If you can translate anything, it might make us look, you know, less ignorant.” Her expression was hopeful, as if banking on Xiuyang’s talents to salvage the situation.

Clearing her throat with exaggerated politeness, Ayla straightened and announced her intentions with an air of diplomacy: “Torragon welcomes you, distant travellers, and is willing to provide aid for your safe journey back home. These waters can be treacherous, especially with Virangish patrol ships prowling about.” She gave Xiuyang a not-so-subtle nudge, signalling her to translate. Once the translation was done, Ayla continued with a bright smile: “Please grant us entrance so we may discuss this further.”

"Neither of us bringing weapons would be even more suspicious, though..." she replied flatly. Then, at Ayla's insistence that she knew "consoi," her eyes widened. "Uh. I don't think..." was about all Xiuyang managed before she was suddenly thrust into translator duty. She did not, in fact, confidently or fluently speak any yasoi language.

It was at about this point that Xiuyang realized that she was at risk of being made the straight man of their comedy duo, and that just wouldn't do. So, she began translating Ayla's speech... into sign language. A very made-up sign language that very much didn't exist. "I thought maybe they were hard of hearing," she suggested innocently as she looked back at Ayla.

While Xiuyang played the "funny and stupid yanii," though, if Miret paid attention to her aimless gesticulating, there was a pattern—a pinch pattern mixed in with the other nonsense. F r i e n d. It had to be simple, in case someone else noticed. If it could not be written off as a coincidence, it would be suspicious.

Tyrel narrowed her eyes at the fiasco below. The crew glanced among themselves. If the yanii were trying to be disarming, they were... somewhat succeeding. None of them understood much of anything, and so they looked to their Avatar of Vyshta, even the ones who were essentially here to be her jailors and sell her out.

All were paying so much attention to the show that she decided she could get away with the most basic tethered pinch message of all to Xiuyang: <Received.> She twisted to regard the captain and nodded. "Joi'etuulan yim tet yax a duul'elaaz" She stepped back from the gunwale. "Oh," she added in Retanese, for the humans' benefit, "I told them to let you aboard. Pretend that you didn't already know so they feel useful."

With that, she made her way towards the rear cabins, where she would await them and the trio might speak with at least some semblance of privacy.

Xiuyang looked back to Ayla and gave an encouraging nudge of her elbow, like she had accomplished some kind of objective, but it wasn't clear what, precisely.

Ayla outranked her, socially, and this was both yasoi and technically enemy territory, so Xiuyang took point. Only when she reached the deck did she realize that, the last time she was surrounded by so many yasoi, her life had been in grave danger. She wasn't terrified, but she had to be a little anxious. She found herself rationalizing that some of those toothy smiles were approximately welcoming. Perhaps they appreciated her defusing the situation with her sister before it could turn violent. Perhaps her joke about the yasoi being hard of hearing had been passably funny. Perhaps a friend of Tyrel was a friend of Tarlon indeed.

Those thoughts carried her as far as the rear cabins, where she could feel some semblance of safety. "So... We've had our goods confiscated, and we're being sent on our way. It's a shame, I had business with someone currently in Palapar, but what can you do. It's probably much the same situation, here." Xiuyang deferred to Ayla.

“The Tarlonese are like… Torragonese Yasoi. We should feel right at home,” Ayla said with a warm smile toward Xiuyang, who had already taken the lead and climbed onto the ship first. What caught Ayla off guard was the greeting: was that Retanese? Or perhaps Nikanese? Maybe it was Tyrel’s idea of a joke, mocking their earlier, disastrous attempt at translation. Ayla was half-tempted to mimic a few phrases she’d overheard from Ashon but wisely thought better of it; knowing her luck, she’d end up offering her ship in exchange for a banana and calling Tyrel a teapot, or something equally absurd.

As she passed the Yasoi crew, Ayla nodded politely, her smile restrained but courteous. She straightened her posture, adopting the air of a confident noblewoman. With a deliberate, graceful stride, she moved across the deck, her half-lidded eyes drawing attention to the fierce orange eyeshadow adorning her lids, bold as war paint. She carried herself like someone meant to be noticed but not trifled with, gliding toward the rear cabins with measured poise.

In response to Xiuyang’s remark, “We requisitioned goods that no longer served a purpose. Really, we were doing you a favour,” she began, her tone formal and even, each word carefully chosen. She paused just long enough for the weight of her statement to settle before continuing, “Additionally, we may have also… requisitioned you. Your crew was preparing the sails as we docked.” She let the implication hang in the air, her expression unreadable, save for the faintest twitch of amusement at the corners of her mouth.

Then, with a subtle flourish, she lifted a handkerchief to her nose, a seemingly innocuous gesture but one that signalled the weaving of her sonic magic. The faint, invisible vibrations began to shift the air, as she turned her attention to Tyrel, “Our little trick to obscure our conversation.” Her lips curved into a smile, adding, “You’re gesturing as you insult me.”

"Pai duul pa temii'yaya," remarked one to the others, "Eth broas, eth suuuugan, eth broa'soi." A few of them nodded in admiration. Some even bowed their heads.

Then, the Constantian duo was in the Avatar's chambers and Tyrel was sprawled out languidly on a divan, one arm slung over its back. "I am, as you know, very insulting... bruja." She threw in a couple of emphatic gestures before launching right into things. "It's good to see you both," she assured them, expression matching neither words nor tone of voice. "Though I wish it might've been under better circumstances." She straightened abruptly, body language becoming suddenly aggressive. "Oh, and don't mind the crew. They're you're typical brainwashed Tarlonese and most of them are dupes, the poor fuckers. They don't know the higher ups' plan, much less ours."

She suddenly glanced down at her shoe and reacted with disgust to whatever it was that the others were saying. "Has anything changed on your end, Red?"

Xiuyang's demeanor changed abruptly. Her smile was wiped clean from her face, something which may have been satisfying to see if she and Ayla were enemies. Slowly, she paced over to a window and peered back at the Revidian vessel. Sure enough, they seemed prepared to depart, but they hadn't done so just yet. She scoffed.

When she turned back to face the duo, it very nearly seemed for a moment that she had become her sister. Her face bore the same sneer. Do you feel like you're in charge, little cub? her eyes seemed to suggest darkly. Fortunately, she, too, was acting. It was an act, right?

Slowly, she made her way to Ayla's side, as if to whisper in her ear. Her lips moved, but she said nothing. She played at comforting Ayla in response to whatever Tyrel had said. She placed an arm around Ayla's shoulders and ran tender fingers through her hair. Xiuyang's skin seemed to crawl as though there were a chill, but both the cabin and the girl's body were warm. In fact, her hand seemed unusually warm. Still, she retained an absolute silence as the other two spoke.

Ayla raised an eyebrow as Xiuyang moved to check through the window, her formal-sounding tease serving its purpose in setting the stage. Though, soon enough, everyone was playing their part in this unfolding performance. Improvisation would undoubtedly be required, but Ayla felt confident she could weave a convincing narrative.

---

“Patha Lexelei’tet” the yasoi whispered as he squinted with his face pressed tightly against the peephole. His knuckles whitened as he gripped the edge of the wooden panel, trying to make out the gestures of the three women in the cabin. The Goddess definitely looks displeased about something, he thought, his mouth twitching in excitement. “toitoi’senii, diiax!”.

The other yasoi gave a low grunt, sitting cross-legged on the floor with one ear pressed firmly against a glass tumbler balanced against the thin cabin wall. His free hand lazily scratched the back of his neck as he listened, his lips curling in a mix of confusion and amusement. They’re talking fast, hhe muttered under his breath, straining to keep up with the rapid conversation. After a moment, he tilted his head and added, something about… horses?. His brow furrowed deeply as he focused, struggling to piece together the torrent of words before offering his translation: “joi labii yashtii’nar’thal”

The yasoi at the peephole snorted, his grin stretching wide enough to flash his teeth. A short joke?” His thoughts practically buzzed with delight, This is already the most interesting conversation we’ve overheard from the Goddess all voyage. His grin only widened as he watched their expressions shift inside the cabin.

Xiuyang’s voice rose, as they listened. ” Irex’ismax yaya joi jam’siin?”, the translator hissed. The yasoi at the peephole glanced toward the Torragonese noble, his grin barely contained. Oh, she’s offended. he thought gleefully. The translations continued to flow: “nash vailgeth”, And then, after an exaggerated pause: “aly vailgeth”.

The translator clamped a hand over his mouth to stifle his laughter, shoulders shaking as he fought to keep quiet. Meanwhile, the peephole watcher gestured wildly toward him as Xiuyang moved to whisper to the other yaniii. The other yasoi adjusted his tumbler, muttering through a barely suppressed snicker, “et eliid suuluun broas, He delivered the line with mock solemnity, his composure crumbling seconds later.

This gets better, he thought, barely able to contain his own amusement as the words tumbled out: “Suuluun’dii, nan’dor.”

The yasoi at the peephole perked up, leaning closer as Tyrel looked down at her shoe. He squinted, barely believing what he was seeing. “pa’dor?”, the translator whispered incredulously. As he watched Tyrel stare at the shoe, the next absurd translation came: “ta, nash pa’dor, suuluun yuula dor”.

Wait… she wants her shoe now? Did I hear that right? The two yasoi exchanged bewildered glances, their expressions equal parts baffled and entertained. The peephole watcher bit down on his knuckle to suppress his laughter, shoulders shaking as he tried to remain quiet.

“Joi muul pa etuulan’dor?”, the translator choked out, his voice trembling with barely-contained mirth. The tumbler nearly slipped from his hand as he tried to compose himself. This yanii too much. Too Much, he thought. “Joi geth irex’ismax”. The peephole watcher wiping at the tears streaming down his face as he continued to watch.

---

“We want to help you get off this ship,” Ayla continued, her tone smooth, “and how you choose to experience your newfound freedom is certainly a conversation we are happy to entertain, hopefully to our mutual benefit.” She extended a hand toward Tyrel as she looked toward her shoe. The gesture was deliberate and demanding. As if expecting to receive something.

It was tucked inside of the Avatar's boot. "They will expect you to offer something in return or they will not accept this." She stood and held the accessory out, eyes narrowed and resentful, dignity threatened. "I will walk away on my own, having sacrificed myself for the sake of the ship's survival. It will be clear that I could resist and win, but I will not with an eye to the greater strategic picture and because I can always break out later."

She was solemn as she made the exchange. Nothing had been said about matters going belly-up, so she'd have to assume that everything was in place. If not, Tyrel was strong enough to do something about her impending captivity. Tyrel would've been, anyhow.

Ayla nodded thoughtfully for a moment, slipping the ring from her finger and holding it out as she made the exchange. “We can swap these trinkets back later on the ship,” she said, glancing toward Xiuyang with a small, musing smile. “You could even have an escort to Palapar, if that’s your destination.” She shrugged, spreading her hands casually. “Then later, you could have a nice, heroic tale of a great escape, ‘rescue’ the confiscated goods and deliver them. All we’d ask is to take credit for your capture. Or, if you prefer, we could deliver you to Tanso or another territory you call home.”

She crossed her arms, tapping her fingers lightly on her elbow as she continued. “Ultimately, you’d be free to walk, hop, or jump away as you please.”

Ayla’s gaze sharpened as she leaned forward ever so slightly. “So, what do we need to do to make this work?”

Just as expected, you're not the one, Xiuyang thought as she played with a lock of Ayla's hair. Then, she acted as though she'd grown bored of it. She nodded at Ayla's suggestion, but her words wouldn't match. "The one who captured a Solari? You don't want that reputation. Our family always repays a favor, but it also repays a slight," she replied gravely. She looked between the two girls, pondering.

"We have a common goal, but also our own separate reputations and agendas to consider. I propose a rumor mill approach. Nobody will know what to believe, so they'll just agree with the narrative they like best, which should be favorable for all of us, on average." She looked between the two girls once more.

Tyrel nodded slowly, face becoming pensive. "There a lot to explain and precious little time," she replied. "I can save you the trouble of an elaborate plan, though." If she couldn't smile outwardly, she did it with her eyes. "Follow my lead and it'll all be okay, even if it doesn't look like it."

Outside, the eavesdroppers heard something very different, however. "What sort of imbecile do you think I am!?" roared the Avatar of Vyshta.

"If you insist on making things worse again," came Xiuyang's voice, "then you only prove her right!"

"Do you think us yasoi so simple that I would take a sealing ring and place it on my finger!?"

"You'd have saved us all a lot of trouble," they heard Ayla grumble. "Well, time for the big guns, we suppose, though we regret it had to come to this."

Tyrel turned to Xiuyang. "This is your chance to escape as well," she warned the Revidian before pivoting back to the Torragonese. "Your ship will be hard-pressed to defeat two others in combat. She narrowed her eyes. "Tread very carefully."

"Whoa whoa whoa!" interjected the Revidian, "who said anything about me taking sides?"

Ayla, meanwhile, sounded utterly unfazed. "And who said anything about a ship?" she rejoined.

From the distance could be heard the screech of a dragon, and the attention of all three crews was inevitably drawn to the beast: a handsome - and unusually large - young froabas.

There was a surge of energy and it was not two seconds before Ayla was sent violently hurtling through the cabin wall and off of the ship. "You threaten me, that's one thing. Threatening my crew is another entirely!" The Avatar of Vyshta stormed out just as Ayla recovered from the bone-rattling kinetic blast and came to a stop, hovering above the waves. Sailors scrambled about. gunports opened on all three ships.

Xiuyang stood stunned, looking out of the broken wall of the cabin for a moment before leaping into action. "M-My Goddess Fortuna bids me escape, and who am I to argue?!" she said, laughing nervously as she pushed past the yasoi crew and made her way back to the boat to reclaim her weapons. With a kinetic kick, she sent the boat flying towards the beach bordering the cove and away from the incoming crossfire.

"Part of me hoped it would come to this," remarked Maria with glee. "The Avatar of Vyshta is a fine prize indeed," she mused, leveling her rifle with the side of the ship.

The hammer would release, but the powder did not ignite. Xiuyang would not allow it. She, too, was now aboard the ship, making her way to Maria's position. "Constant interference! I've had enough! Men, this woman is a traitor of the Solari!"

"Maria! I must accomplish my mission in Palapar! The fate of the Solari depends on it!" she roared back, leaving no room for debate.

The crew were confused, aiming their rifles in an uncoordinated standoff. Miret, Xiuyang and Maria all saw the muzzles of hired Solari guns pointed their way.

"...For real?" Maria inquired, as she often did when they were yet children. If the situation weren't urgent—or at least appearing to be so—it could've been nostalgic.

"Cross my heart and hope to die," Xiuyang replied. It wasn't a code phrase, but it may as well have been, between them.

Maria's face scrunched up in rage, but she swallowed. "Hoist anchor like you're hauling ass, boys! Ready the cannons to fire!" she shouted. "...Who are we siding with?"

"...Tyrel, I think."

"You think?"

Xiuyang evaded Maria's eyes.

"Oh, for fuck's sake..."

This was not what we had in mind. As Ayla smashed through the walls of the cabin, hurtling across the surface of the water. Her feet skimmed the waves as she skated backward, slowing to a stop. Thankfully, she was a maestro with kinetic magic, but with all three ships now poised for combat, this could easily spiral into a bloodbath.

She flicked her fingers, amplifying the sound of the gesture with sonic magic. The enhanced noise drew the attention of everyone present, her voice carrying clearly to every ear. There would be no excuse for anyone to claim they hadn’t heard her.

“Tarlonese ship! This letter holds the arrest warrant for Tyrel'yrash'dichora, the so-called Goddess,” she announced, pulling a piece of parchment from her breast pocket and holding it aloft. “Your application to land an invasion force on the human lands of Palapar has been denied by the Kingdom of Torragon. You have one chance to surrender peacefully.”

She gestured to her crew, and moments later, several cannons fired. Warning shots that landed perilously close to the Tarlonese vessel, sending water spraying high into the air. Above, Arman, the red-and-black-striped frobas, launched into the sky, spewing fire into the heavens in an awe-inspiring and intimidating display.

Ayla turned her attention to the Solari vessel and issued her next order. “Under the auspices of the Central Alliance, and in honour of our shared blood, the King of Torragon requests your assistance against the enemy. Train your guns on the Tarlonese vessel to intimidate them into surrender. Should they refuse, commence military operations.”

The proverbial beacon had been lit.

The high howling scream of the young dragon was enough to give everyone pause, but the Tarlonese were battle-hardened, unlike most of their huusoi counterparts. They had fought both against and alongside dragons like this. They knew them, they knew what they were capable of, and they knew that this one was but a juvenile.

"Count on a Torragonese to make this about species," Tyrel's voice rang out. "The people of Palapar are oppressed. We bring them food, training, and weapons so that they might fight their jailors and throw off their shackles. You deny them these boons, lickspittle!" She turned in the direction of the San Cristoforo. "Stand with me, suunei. Stand with me, people of Revidia who have not given up on their convictions. Side with us this day and it shall not be forgotten!"

The last of Arman's blast of flame mushroomed in the sky, curling outwards, cooling, and turning into smoke. Ayla regarded the others enigmatically. The Furia Roja's guns pointed at the Etuulan'iisca.

"You threaten me!" Tyrel roared, "that is one thing. To threaten all aboard this vessel is another. We don't fear your little dragon. We fight!"

Ayla's gaze was intense - serene but intense. "Little? Perhaps you should look again, Goddess."

They felt it, then. The air itself grew heavy. Storm clouds crackled with thunder and the very mountainside seemed to tremble.

Trees sloughed away, dirt fell in curtains, and boulders tumbled and shattered down the slope. An enormous new cloud of dust and soot billowed out from the wounded mountain.

They did more than merely hear what followed. The sky trembled and sails fluttered from the force of the roar. Even the froabas took anxious wing and made haste for somewhere a bit further from the epicentre. It was a volcano in all but literal truth. A gargantuan burst of flame and black smoke filled the sky. Chunks of rock as big as boats splashed into the water.

The thing that spread its wings - for there was no word to truly describe it - was vast and ancient beyond belief. Waves churned and ships rocked and sails ripped from the flap of its mighty wings. With a laboured heave, the enormous elderly dragon lifted into the sky and its shadow rendered fully half of the cove in darkness. Its eyes were clouded and blind and it was slow, but the sheer size was... insane.

"You are not dealing with a simple Torragonese patrol vessel and a bored noble, Goddess. We are Torragon's fist." Ayla raised her voice once more, and spread out her arms as she announced "¡Vamos, Anochecer!" The Torragonese erupted in cheers and war cries. Arman swept nimbly around the cove and accelerated, his spiny tail nearly lashing the San Cristoforo as he whipped overhead.

"Your move, extranjeras."

"Y-You ask the impossible!" Maria shouted back, aghast. Whatever Xiuyang had to deal with in Palapar could never compare to the crisis before them, or the dire consequences of going against someone with the full backing of Torragon's might. "We are leaving, Xiuyang!" she said, leaving no room for debate.

"You see what I'm telling you, sister?! You just try and remain loyal to every friend you've made, and see how quickly you come undone! ...Xiuyang?" she prodded, having degraded to using the name she used when they were children.

"...Yeah. Fall back, Maria." Her sister let out a breath in relief.

What happened next appeared to Maria in slow motion. Her younger sister placed a foot on the rail of the ship, the corner of her lip curling slightly upwards. Maria's eyes widened in disbelief, and, to her own surprise, fear; fear of her own sister. Courage did not run through Solari blood. Who was this person? Was she really little Xiuyang?

I wonder why. Am I so readily trusting of these two? One who is impersonating a friend, and changes plans on a whim with little explanation... and one who changes faces as readily as the Solari, smiling so easily as she tells me she holds all the cards? ...No. It's more like...

Like the spirit of Eshiran had filled her.

She landed in a boat and cut the tether. Kinetic and chemical magics augmented her meager strength as she rowed towards Miret, the very air around her seeming to tremble in unison with her adrenaline-addled body as the dragon flapped its massive wings.

I wonder what Eshiran saw in a little Solari coward like me, she pondered as she looked at the massive beast. Well, me dying here after making a false goddess bleed would be rather poor storytelling on the gods' part. There must be some reason I'm still here.

The dragon roared, as if to challenge such a flimsy notion with every iota of its colossal authority. She flinched as the stench of death blew like a hurricane at her face, whipping her hair back 90 degrees. "Compared to the knower titan or the dragons of ReTan, you aren't so big," she assessed numbly, as if her very emotions had been blown a million miles away by the dragon's roar.

"It seems my Revidian comrades intend to slip away like the Eel," she said to Miret. "I may not be of much assistance, but regardless, I'm still here."

Xiuyang was coming - racing over into peril on behalf of Tyrel. She wasn't even Tyrel! That singular notion screamed at Miret in her head in that moment. She was all in on this plan. It was their opportunity to seize the reins from the mortal Gods who'd held them in a deathgrip for as long as most anyone could remember. It was their chance to save Tyrel and how many other girls and perhaps... even Tarlon. For the love of Oirase, she'd sacrificed her leg for it, even if it was only temporary.

But Xiuyang was a good person: her sister's friend. She was good and Miret hadn't trusted her because she didn't trust Ciro Volta, not since she'd faced him in The Trials. Now, the Revidian was off-script - an easy thing to be when she hadn't been told everything! They'd had so much more planned: A mock fight, a clash of ideals, Ayla's big villain speech, the (completely fake) killing of a well-trained dragon. They'd sorted it all a week ago in Sawand.

"Oap!" she shouted, moving to step forward instinctively. She nearly stumbled. Despite how the Bodybender had changed her - the new muscle in her leg and atrophy in her stump, the imitation muscle memory - it hadn't overridden her basic instincts. "Stop!" she shouted, bucking a second instinct. This time, she strode forward, leaping from the ship and hovering there, toes a foot or less above the water. "It's me you want, right!?"

Yes, she'd have done it for the 'innocents' on her crew regardless. She'd have been scared of the dragon regardless, and found that the sheer scale of the beast in person actually did seed a deep discomfort somewhere atop her stomach. Xiuyang had suffered enough. Xiuyang had dreams enough. Xiuyang could actually get hurt here. Tyrel would not have allowed it. Neither would Miret.

Xiuyang was taken aback, but it might not have shown well on the emotionally stunted expression that was currently replacing what ought to have been sheer terror. Miret's plan seemed to have taken a turn that required swift correction.

Xiuyang couldn't be certain where she stood with these two. Were she and Miret planning something, and in sending a pinch message to Miret, she was letting Ayla in on it? Or were Miret and Ayla planning something that Xiuyang may or may not ever be let in on? Who was in on the true plan, and who was "out?"

Truthfully, she'd felt a bit duped. Ayla had been dragging her along at her own pace, roping her into this so easily right after Miret had told her to stay out. She even seemed to mock her for it. The way she waited for her words to sink in, it seemed more like a genuine threat than simple acting. If it were anyone but Ayla, it would have been, of that much she was certain. Now, though, as she looked up at Ayla, she thought she caught a wink.

Xiuyang wasn't sure if she'd been "in" the whole time, but fumbled the ball at some point, and Miret was acting to salvage things, or if Miret's reaction to her act of temporary insanity was proof that she was intended to stay out of this, but her courage had earned her the right to be "in." Xiuyang resisted the creeping urge to feel relieved as she waited to see what Ayla would do next.

Ayla stood at ease, gesturing for the dragon to hold its position as she calmly raised her hand. Her fingers moved to tap her breast pocket, patting it lightly where the aforementioned arrest warrant for Tyrel’yrash’dichora was kept.

“Are you willing to submit yourself to Torragonese law?” she asked, her tone firm yet inquisitive. Her gaze flickered momentarily to Xiuyang to appraise her, before returning to study Tyrel's response.

The Avatar of Vyshta turned briefly to the captain, gesturing him close and leaning in. "Joi rey p'oilanx,", she said quietly, "qaaleth p'anteiluu. Tyrel tajuup de'loi sil tuumo hyco soiyan seth eyda nax muul.". She pursed her lips and thought for a moment. "Pa metaar eleiz pa tiiro siizuu. Senas soansoi el'yca tuu jey ytiic eleiz et rey voi Tyrel pen..." She shrugged. "Leiz pelosh nax se pa zoap sil pan yashtiil'cudop loi yecan Tyrel'o coleth."

It was only a few seconds. She turned to face Ayla. "An artful evasion of my question. I recognize no laws of Torragon in the waters of the sovereign nation of Palapar, but I do recognize a threat to people who've done you no ill and the means to carry it out." She projected her voice. It was best that this carried. "Say you attack, elar. Maybe I die. Maybe you die." She levered her gaze up to the massive hovering figure of the dragon. Despite its gargantuan size, its flying appeared laboured at the best of times. "Perhaps that great terrifying relic of yours expires as it probably should've a couple centuries ago." She shrugged. "Either way, plenty of the little people die: mine, yours..." She gestured in Xiuyang's direction. "Maybe Siin Solari's." She shook her head. "So, I ask you once again: Is it me that you want?"

Her crew remained ready, guns trained. Nobody seemed to be backing down, at least... not yet.

Xiuyang looked exhausted, like the adrenaline spike of facing a dragon had been the last straw in a long line of exhausting things that had happened on this journey. Her sister was surely responsible for most of it. Somehow she had managed, barely, not to snap at Ayla earlier.

Most exhausting of all was the dance of keeping one's dignity intact while acting in everyone's mutual interest. Is this what bureaucracy feels like? Maybe this will work if I capitulate first. "Does the said Torragonese law..." she began, with some semblance of courage. "Afford the daughter of Solari and her very close friend some small dignity, as political prisoners? If not, that would be quite unfortunate."

She hated it: the subtle jabs and warnings required of their stations. If she was intent on marrying Ciro, she would have to take these responsibilities seriously, but she didn't have to like it. If she were forced to be born into a family of snakes, she'd much sooner choose to wear bright colors rather than bare fangs, hiss and rattle her saber.

Ayla smiled as she held out her hands. “These are contested waters, but if you truly wish to surrender to Virangish law, we can make those arrangements, and you can petition their inquisitor directly for fair treatment. However,” she continued, her tone deliberate, “as the arbiter of Torragonese law here, we can settle this here and now.” She gave a subtle wink, gently encouraging the latter option, before turning to respond to Xiuyang’s question.

“Political prisoners are treated well for good reason. Their release is negotiated directly with their nation or a suitable representative, usually in exchange for a ransom fee or an appropriate concession,” she explained matter-of-factly. Gesturing toward Tyrel, she added, “As the third daughter of a prominent trading family and… a very special friend, you would receive comfortable quarters and treatment befitting a prisoner of noble standing.”

Ayla then turned her attention back to Tyrel's initial question. “We will take both of you. We see no reason to involve your... fishing boat, provided the crew agrees to return home.”

A drop of sweat rolled down Xiuyang's cheek. "I got an A+ answer straight from the textbooks. I'm glad she's studying," Xiuyang quipped, low enough that only Miret should hear it. "I'm not sure if my assessment of the danger here is, ah, entirely accurate. I would like to not die, for what it's worth."

The Avatar of Vyshta's voice sunk low to match Xiuyang's. "We've had to improvise a bit, but don't worry. This is all according to keikaku." She considered. "'Keikaku' means 'plan' in Nikanese." There was a momentary pause and a note of sincerity to follow. "I'm, uh... sorry you got roped into this, suunei. Thank you for playing along. It could mean everything, for me and T-Miret." She smiled weakly. Then, she turned to Ayla. "I'm the big fish you want. Take me, give her a good slap for being where she shouldn't, and we don't need to test who's got the scarier weapons, luuca?" Nimbly, she hopped up onto the gunwale, the wind taking her hair and her robes and making them dance. "That's my offer, amiga." She spread her hands. "I'm all yours if you take it, or we try to kill each other."

Ayla looked thoughtful as she watched the figure before her subtly manipulate the air pressure, causing her outfit to dance precisely as she intended. Nice touch, she mused. “You’re ours,” she chimed back, before glancing down at Xiuyang. “And a slap? You’re going across our knees.”

She tossed a pair of cuffs toward the two, letting them land on the little rowboat. Then, with a quick gesture to the ship behind her, she signaled for the anchor to be taken up, allowing the Tarlonese vessel to pass.

“Business concluded: one avatar and her friend, in exchange for a Tarlonese vessel’s safe passage home.”

"And a Solari vessel's safe passage," Xiuyang reminded her as she snatched the cuffs out of the air. And I'll get that reward you promised out of you, one way or another.

She turned to Miret, her face slightly unsure if she would consent to having her hands cuffed. "If she follows through on that threat, I don't mind if you blow up the ship," she whispered, deadpan.

The Avatar of Vyshta raised her hands. "Sadly, if I wear your huusoi symbol of confinement, I do not walk." She suited words to action. "You will have to trust me." She saved a small smile for Xiuyang - "If she does, I will." - and then it was a done deal.

The dragon settled on the mountain, its landing a tenuous affair until it finally let out a relieved puff of smoke and returned to quiet watching.

The Etuulan'iisca did not depart the bay, however. A rather fierce wind had whipped up and, after a few fat drops to speckle the decks and sails of the three ships, the rain came down in sheets and lightning flashed across the sky. A long tired moan echoed beneath the thunder and rainfall from Anochecer behind the mountain.

Beneath the umbrella of this energetic barrage, there was much that could be concealed and, perhaps, much to conceal. It went on for a good couple hours before it cleared, as tropical storms always do and, by that juncture, Oraff had given way to Eshiran and the jungle steamed as shadows stretched across it.

It was under this sky that two of the three ships: the Furia Roja, and the Etuulan'iisca parted. If each could each claim a victory of sorts, either openly or in secret, the San Cristoforo had left earlier, as the storm was still dying down, merely an unfortunate interloper mostly - though not wholly - let free from the noose and eager not to have to face it again. Finally, the Furia was alone.

“Well, that almost got a bit too exciting for our taste.” Ayla plucked a cinnamon-sprinkled churro from the pile on the sharing platter set beside the three of them. “We were worried you were really going to make us fight out there on the water.” She took a bite, chewing happily as her eyebrows rose in delight. Gesturing toward the others, she encouraged them to indulge while they sat comfortably.

She turned to Xiuyang. “So, Palapar is your destination? We can arrange to drop you off.”

"Yeah. Anywhere you can conveniently lose track of me without losing face is fine. I'll just tell my father I stowed away on your ship, and it can all be swept under the rug." She bit into a churro and chewed it just a bit too long, as if the act could produce thought. "You can rest easy. My business here has nothing to do with Palapar itself, or the war. I just had really bad timing to run a very urgent errand."

"Had to put on a convincing performance," Miret replied with a shrug, "And you were totally fuckin' method acting." She took a bite of one of the pastries and rolled her eyes. "Tica!"

Then, Xiuyang spoke, and her curiosity couldn't help but be piqued. "Do tell?" She leaned in conspiratorially. "What secret nefarious dealings are you up to these days?"

If she understood the plan, they would soon be at their second rendezvous and that was the make or break moment. Much of what had already occurred had done so with more official support, but they were now about to enter waters charted only by themselves. All the better to talk and learn and enjoy the company until that time, if only to reassure herself of the plan or at least take her mind off of it.

"Well, when you put it like that, how can I possibly live up to your expectations?" Xiuyang replied with some humor. "I need to exchange correspondence with someone I also need to apologize to. If they know I'm here, they'll probably try to avoid me, so I'll just have to find them. You'll have to figure out who it is later."

If it was someone Xiuyang could find easily, they were probably someone of significance. She had apologized to Penny, of all people, in person, so even though coming all this way to do that seemed absurd, maybe it was actually true.

Ayla winked at Tyrel before turning her attention to the other conversation.

“It’s a long way to go for an apology,” she mused. “If they’re a student, you could have simply waited for them at the academy.”

“We’ll be reaching the second rendezvous point soon enough to offload these supplies. You can travel with them, Xiuyang, we believe you’re well acquainted with the captain.” She turned to Tyrel. “And you? Have you made your final decision?”

'Tyrel' tilted her head to the side an arched an eyebrow. "Was I ever really going to choose otherwise?" She took a deep breath and nodded. "Let's do this."

Ayla nodded as the three of them continued to talk and dine, the day gradually giving way to evening as the moons began to rise. Each of them moved freely about the ship without much interruption, enjoying the calm.

It was during one of these quiet moments that the ship came to an unexpected stop, steady and slow, but still otherwise unplanned for the pair. The night crew had begun organizing the confiscated cargo onto pallets for easier transportation.

Ayla sought out Xiuyang and gestured for her to follow. “It’s time,” she said with a smile, leading her to the deck, where something unexpected had made its appearance. Well, less of a ship and more of a…

“Olá! Você está sendo convocado para a companhia Arslan-Mercador pelo restante desta viagem. Bem-vinda!”

Xiuyang was greeted by a familiar face near the cargo hold of the submersible. The auburn-haired girl smiled brightly at her. “You can start with some of these pallets. Did you really have to pack so much rice? I guess the Palapeese won’t be going hungry,” she joked. Around them, the unusual and varied assembly of puppets typical of Maura were assisting the crewmen in transferring the goods aboard.

“We would’ve asked Tyrel to help, but, we know… free hands.” Ayla gave a shrug and mimed holding crutches with her hands. “She’s already on board and ready to go. The faster we finish, the sooner we can depart.”

With combined effort, the submersible was finally loaded, and the Schwarze Alice set out, leaving the Furia Roja behind under the cover of the night sky, as Ayla waved them off.

As soon as Xiuyang heard the voice, she threw her head over the rail and looked below. Her face was in shock, looking at the strange craft, but then she smiled. "It's a fine surprise, Ayla. I like it." She waved eagerly.

When the work was finally done, Xiuyang wiped her sweat and offered Maura a hug. "It's good to see you, Maura. How are you faring these days? I know trade is unforgiving right now." She looked tired, but happy.

Maura accepted the hug. “Welcome to the crew,” she said with a wink, “albeit temporarily, we fear. You really should come over to this side, we’d treat you better.”

Answering the question, she added, “You know how it is. Rule 34 of the manual: war is good for business.” She patted the confiscated goods from the San Cristoforo and placed a finger over her lips in a shushing gesture. “But we like to think of it as redistribution of assets.”

Maura led the way to the shared space where Tyrel was already seated. “Still, we never thought so many people would want to be smuggled onto the island. The demand almost rivals that of those trying to get off it. What brings you there?”

Miret Tyrel did her best to help anyhow. Now that she considered, it, it did feel strange, not being able to reliably carry things. She had the Gift, though, and that would suffice, so she busied herself, for idle hands were Levidan's workshop.

The thing was that she didn't really know these people. They were friends of people she knew well - people she cared about, and she was comfortable enough with them, she supposed, but anxiety still gnawed at her nerves over the entire situation: the great gambit, the adaptations on the fly, the prospect of someone turning coat or an enemy getting wise or the entire thing just going awry somehow. Plus, it would've felt strange to just butt in conversationally between friends and classmates. She said her polite hellos and followed along like a little one-legged duckling.

---

Tyrel was itching to get out. How she was itching! She had paced, rocking deck and all, almost since the moment that she had been put aboard. Given enough time and opportunity, she might've actually worn grooves in the floor where she'd been walking. Now, if these precious yaniis would just... truncate their smalltalk, she was mere moments from release, from seeing a loved one for the first time in over a month. She stood and stretched for at least the third time, performing a final check of her rucksack, her pockets, her satchel, and the pouches strapped to either side of her thigh.

She was as ready as she'd ever be.

"I know you would, Maura. But as they say, home is where the heart is." Her smile was weary. "I'm here for the same reason you are. Business. I'd like to get it over with as quickly as possible, so I'll be one of those waiting to leave before long."

The submersible craft reached its destination, the girls emerging onto the scene of Torragon's own covert operations in Palapar, evidence all around them that they too were supplying the rebels with weapons, rations and funding. If anyone gave Xiuyang a second glance, her simple air of having known about this all along caused questions about the Revidian's arrival to fade away into irrelevance. The more stubborn types would have their questions answered by Maura. There was always at least one self-important supervisor on any scene.

"I suppose here is where we part ways, suunei," Xiuyang said to 'Tyrel.' "I'll look forward to meeting you again. It's nice to have such loyal and reliable friends." She smiled enigmatically and winked so quickly that it could have been dismissed as an involuntary twitch of her eye. Had she realized it?

She checked her pocketwatch, and turned to leave. She really did seem to have no interest in how the supplies Ayla had confiscated were going to be distributed, intent on going on into an uncharted path through local foliage on her own. Though, it also seemed like she was heading in the same general direction. Did her business involve a student from Ersand'Enise as well? Perhaps even Zarina?

She hadn't gotten much of a chance to speak with the yasoi as they'd surfaced, and so the last bit was meaningful. She'd been below decks, speaking with someone and changing outfits, apparently, and she'd only reappeared right as they were surfacing.

Now, as they moved, Tyrel'yrash seemed, somehow... nimbler than before. She bounded after Xiuyang, dressed in a simple white blouse and black leggings, very much not the Avatar of Vyshta. "Relax, you lil' yaya!" she called, striding over a fallen log and catching up. "Thought you'd get rid of your 'reliable friend' so easily?" She elbowed the smaller woman playfully. "I was just adjusting this Oirase-damned backpack."

She breathed in and out deeply and released the last in a sigh. "Damy, I feel so much lighter already." She shook her head and there was an indelible grin on her face to match the bounce in her step. She weaved unnecessarily in and out of the undergrowth, hopped up on rocks and logs, and peered down every little side trail. It was, in all, a textbook example of yasoi nature on display.

"It's you and me, suunei," Tyrel chirped, as they made their way through a set of picturesque ruins, "all the way to..." She pursed her lips in thought for a moment. "Just north of Kalingnan, I think." She hopped a step as she patted a rolled up parchment strapped to her backpack. "It's in here anyways." She nodded, resuming her normal gait. "I have all our stops planned out, by the way, and backups." She rolled her eyes. "Shiin knows I had nothing else to do in that cabin forever."

Xiuyang giggled, in a manner that was almost unlike her. She'd really cheered up lately, and it showed in her bright smile in moments like this. "I was talking about Miret, being your reliable friend. Not just anyone could take someone else's place and face danger in their stead. I wonder if I could do that sometime," she joked. Tyrel was one of the few who could appreciate the joke, since she knew her secret.

She had to speed up to keep pace with Tyrel's nearly boundless energy. "I'm glad one of us has a plan. I was just going to rough it," she replied, surely joking as she always was. She was a Binder, she had her little medicine box, and she'd survived in Yarsoc on her own for a while... but still, letting the little yanii wander off into the jungle on her own might be a bit much. "Gonna show me just how reliable you can be then, suunei? I'll tag along as long as you'll have me."

"Well, now that you mention it..." Tyrel considered, "We could probably use a fake Miret." She grinned, only half joking. "Might require a bit more commitment to play my part, though." She quieted a bit after that, but it wasn't a melancholy silence. Pensiveness changed to peace, and peace to the steady repetition of footfalls and chittering of a hundred birds in the trees.

They continued on in good-natured silence for a bit, the yasoi traipsing through the forest like an excited child, twisting on the spot every once in a while with either an expectant glance, hair flick, or grin over her shoulder. The sun-dappled path continued indefinitely as shadows stretched and mosquitoes began to buzz about.

All at once, Tyrel came to a stop, resting her stump on a crutch handle and swinging her pack from her shoulders. She pulled out and unrolled the map, biting her lower lip in concentration and tucking a strand of hair behind one ear. "You any better at reading this than me?" She looked hopefully to Xiuyang. "Are we actually as far as it looks?"

Xiuyang had to jog to keep pace with Tyrel, something she had fortunately made time to do most every morning and evening at Ersand'Enise. Doing it with a friend in an unfamiliar place was invigorating, and her excitement was infectious. This energy, this is why she enjoyed hanging out with the yasoi so much. They had a love of life that she had desperately needed to find herself, back in those days, and it was still just as welcome now as it was then, even though she was doing better now.

Suddenly, they both stopped. "Uh, maybe? We did run a bit." She inspected the map, and their surroundings. She did take a cartography class once, though she wasn't exactly used to this sort of land navigation. She was more of a "navigate by the stars" kinda girl, having essentially grown up on the sea.

She tried measuring something with her fingernail. "I think we're... good. Yeah," she said, her confidence founded on almost no knowledge whatsoever.

Tyrel continued to nibble her lower lip for a moment, eyes flicking down the trail evaluatively. She shifted on the ball of her foot and shrugged. "Think we can make Angkidnon by sundown?" The way that she was already starting to roll up the map, stump sliding off of her crutch handle, told Xiuyang that the yasoi had already made up her mind.

She tucked the roll into one of the bag's pockets, slid her forearm through the crutch's cuff, and was moving. "What's that huusoi song about the ninety-nine bottles, again?" she inquired with a hint of mischief and a bounce in her step. In truth, "Surely, we can make it there before we finish, no?"

Xiuyang giggled heartily. "I'm sure we can. That song is longer than you think. Nobody ever finishes it, even at sea. Someone always gets bored and starts singing something else."

Tyrel arched an eyebrow. "That sounds more like a wager, suunei." She winked and, with only a little more discussion, they were on their way. Thus began...

---

---

Tyrel and Xiuyang's Excellent Adventure

---

---

It was decided that, should Tyrel actually managed to finish the infamous "99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall," Xiuyang would fess up and tell her the real reason why she was in Palapar. Thus began the sprint to that last bottle of beer, and the closest town. To Xiuyang's slight embarrassment—but only slight—Tyrel ended up slowing down for her on multiple occasions. As dusk neared, they were accosted by a very large herd of goma cats. While Tyrel attempted to scare them off by creating the illusion of a coming storm—complete with sound effects, no less!—Xiuyang took the much more straightforward approach of using the sound of her twin pistols, now her favorite weapons by far. Having proven her worth as a companion, she took the lead over Tyrel's pace as they arrived at a camp of locals, which they stealthfully approached.

"Twenty-two bottles of beer on the wall, twenty-two bottles of beer..." Tyrel whispered as she ducked behind the underbrush. "If one of those bottles should happen to fall..."

CRASH

One of the drunk men sitting around the fire dropped his jug while trying to pass it to another, causing everyone to go on alert. A man went to investigate, or perhaps take a piss. Tyrel silenced him with a sonic bubble while Xiuyang knocked him out with chemical magic. "Twenty-one bottles of beer on the wall," she continued, holding her hand up for a high-five. It was then that Xiuyang realized something. "...Can you understand what they're saying at all?" "Twenty-one bottles of beer." Tyrel replied, pursing her lips and shaking her head. Xiuyang was trying to get her to slip, she knew. Xiuyang repsponded with a facepalm. "Me neither. Let's leave."

"Twenty bottles of beer on the wall," Tyrel whisper-sang, "twenty bottles of beer. If one of those bottles should happen to fall..." She looked over expectantly at Xiuyang as they walked, grinning and hopping a step as she pointed finger guns at her shorter friend. Xiuyang narrowed her eyes. "You're really gonna do it, huh?"

Tyrel waited, drawing out the final note until she ran out of her breath and continued to hop sideways. She had to be made wholly of springs and enthusiasm. Finally she scowled, took a deep breath, and continued. "Nineteen bottles of beer on the wall!"

They continued down the path in this manner until, suddenly, she stopped dead in her tracks. She twisted about and pulled a piece of paper from it, "Seventeen bottles of beer on the wall..." she murmured as she wrote with a lead. "Seventeen bottles of beer." Her finger tapped idly in time with her singing even as her face remained a mask of concentration. She fliped the note over: Angkidnon for the night, or press on to Tebu? It's only 3 more miles... "Let's not push our luck. We might run into something worse than goma cats." Tyrel shrugged and offered a thumbs up.

Now, the lights of the town—lamps and hearths, mostly—were well within sight, and Tyrel began to falter, or so it seemed. "Eleven bottles of beer!" she huffed. "If one of those bottles should happen to fall," she puffed, slowing down to a fast walk from her previously bouncy jog. They didn't even notice the sign as they skipped right past it.

They reached the outskirts of the town: the darkened silhouettes of huts and thatched-roof houses rose into the night. They could see breaks in the trees with terraced fields and, as the terrain continued to rise, the sparkling waves of the increasingly distant ocean. "Eight bottles of beer on the wall..." Tyrel panted, starting to fall behind in earnest now.

Then, the yasoi stopped dead in her tracks, gripping her crutch handles tightly. "Five bottles of beer on the..." She trailed off. Hanging from the tree were three corpses, hung by their necks and being picked at by coconut crabs and crows, and a fiddler monkey. "Holy shit," she whispered. "Sooo... maybe Tebu after all?"

"Uh..!" Xiuyang backed off from the sight, clearly shaken. "Fuck. Yeah, let's scram." She'd seen pirates get picked at by buzzards before. These corpses were relatively fresh. "I'd rather deal with a predator than a mob."

Around the necks of each corpse hung a sign. They all seemed to have different writing on them. Tyrel paused, not yet noticing that she had broken her half-hour's worth of singing. She furrowed her brow and tried to make sense of it. The people seemed unremarkable: two men and a woman—they didn't look related either—fairly well-dressed. Surely, there was more to know. The yasoi, however, nodded in agreement with Xiuyang. "We should skirt the edge of town."

Xiuyang wasn't willing to get close enough to the crabs to inspect the signs, but she did see them. "Their crimes are what's written there, probably. Definitely not sanctioned executions though." Tyrel was fixated, however. "Poor fuckers," she murmured, shaking her head. She started moving again. "But not something I'm too eager to get involved with." Incidentally, she was walking just as quickly now as she had earlier, before beginning to tire. Then, for the umpteenth time today, she stopped dead in her tracks. "You know... if they catch us slipping past in the night, it mike actually look worse than if we just pass innocently through on the road," she decided.

"Maybe, but can you speak Palaparese? I doubt they'd take kindly to my Virangish." Tyrel bit her lower lip. "I know a few choice phrases. I understand a bit." She swung her stump restlessly onto a crutch handle and fished something from her seemingly-bottomless pack. "I had a week to study on that boat and we're both clearly foreign..." Xiuyang looked pensive, inspecting her colorful merchant's clothes. She seemed to be thinking that she looked more like those corpses on the trees than the locals. "Fuck it. If they get aggressive, we just draw and they'll get the idea. Right?" Tyrel pondered for a second. "Heh. I didn't think of that." She blinked. "Well fuck me sideways. I don't think there's anyone who could take you, suunei." She grinned and strode forward. Xiuyang rolled her eyes. She'd been told she was strong, but she didn't feel like it, especially not lately.

They went in and the entire town seemed to be near-empty. Tyrel had starting talking about a past adventure of hers, just to fill the silence and to make it clear that they weren't up to any skullduggery. "So, anyway, there I was: five alligators to one side and lava to the other." She paused for a moment, considering. "Well, actually, I think one was a crocodile—poor lonely little guy—maybe that explains his behaviour." She tucked some hair behind an ear. "Anyway, so: those five in one direction and the lava getting closer and all I had were my crutches and the clothes on my back and—" She paused and a silence built. "Hey, suunei... I can practically smell the reek of self-doubt on you." For a moment, there was only quiet and footsteps. "What's going on?"

Xiuyang had been quietly giggling along to Tyrel's obviously made-up story. The rabbit trails, like one of the alligators being a crocodile, were just so charming. "Huh?" The abrupt shift in topic caught her off guard. "I was just thinking that I don't feel so young and indestructible anymore. Seems like everywhere I go, there's someone or something that would give a Zeno a run for his money, and I'm just... me?" She shrugged. "But I feel safe with you, and I'm happier now than I ever was back then."

Tyrel walked along beside her thoughtfully. "It's funny, you know." She shook her head. "I've always been a happy person." A handful of people peeked out into the street, but there weren't many about after dark. "I don't why." She shrugged. "I spend so much of my time being solemn and serene, strutting around in a fuckin' golden bikini that I guess I just have to laugh at myself or I'd go nuts."

A head or two poked out. The silhouette of a child dashed across the street in the distance. "I just can't wear the mask all that well," she admitted, "so I don't." She rolled her eyes. "Shiin knows I'm infamous for not taking my duties as a goddess seriously." She glanced Xiuyang's way and her voice dipped a little bit. "But I think I do, you know." She shrugged again. "I do my best. I never asked for this... role that became 'me'."

They continued for a moment as some sort of light in the distance seemed to perch at the edge of the road. "I guess what I'm saying is that people like you—" She paused. "No, you, literally—make it a helluva lot easier. You keep me yasoi. You remind me that I can have fun and not be judged for it." She let out a breath that she didn't realize had been building up until then. "So... thanks, I guess, for being a suunei."

Xiuyang nudged Tyrel's arm with her fist playfully. "You're a cool person, Tyrel, and fun to be around. It's so infectious. Goddess or not, I'd want to be your friend." Her smile was a light in their dark surroundings. "Maybe it's a bit different for me, but I know how it feels to be sick of wearing a mask. I tried to yuk it up too, even if I had to fake it. When that didn't work, there was always booze." She took a sip from her gourd, which she hadn't done in a while. "I always hoped that yasoi energy would rub off on me, I guess."

Tyrel delivered a little hip-check. "There's your rub." Or maybe it was a 'kick' with her stump. It was hard to say. "The tug'll cost you a premium," she joked, holding back a shit-eating grin. Squeezing Xiuyang from the side, she hopped up and strutted ahead, before spinning halfway on the spot. "But not much. I have such a girl-crush on you." She took a moment to flick some hair over a shoulder before turning her attention to the trail ahead.

"Anyway, things look..." There were figures rushing back and forth and so Tyrel'yrash reached out with her energy senses. "You know, actually, speaking of booze," she added, in an intrigued voice, "I think a... distillery? is on fire." She glanced back with eyes that seemed to say, 'should we?'

Xiuyang raised a brow, then blew a raspberry, taking it as a joke. "Pfft." She too tried to sense out with the Gift when she felt Tyrel doing so. "Seems someone kicked over the chamber pot. Do you really want to investigate?" She gave her a curious look, like she was wondering if it had anything to do with Tyrel's reason for being here.

The yasoi twisted to regard her. "I'm headed somewhere for something... just so unfathomably... important that I don't even wanna think about it," she admitted, "but I'm supposed to do random good deeds along the way." She bit her lower lip. "We can at least investigate: a stealthy pair like us, luuca?" "Because that went so well the last time," she replied, but still smiled. "All right. You've convinced me with your good deed spiel. Let's hurry."

It was mostly Xiuyang's illusions and Tyrel's sonic magic that did the job as opposed to any real stealth on the pair's part but, as they drew closer, still unnoticed, they began to get a better picture of the situation. It was a mob. It looked like they had been willfully burning a distillery. They were shouting loudly in Palaparese and Tyrel recognized only a handful of scattered words. By the way that they were scrambling and the fire was starting to spread to a neighbouring shop and some trees, it appeared that their efforts had been a touch too enthusiastic and the blaze was out of their control.

A couple of untrained locals with a bit of the Gift seemed to be trying to counter it by drawing form it with their meagre capacities, or blowing it back with wind. The pair did not really have time to evaluate if the firefighters' efforts had come to much. Whatever trepidation Xiuyang had before disappeared once she saw the locals trying to put the blaze out. In a move that she hoped would cross the language barrier, she began to draw from the fire's heat and use a combination of her arcane and chemical magic to fight the fire from two fronts. She prioritized the shop, leaving the trees to Tyrel.

Tyrel did not need to be told. Of course the yasoi would be in charge of anything to do with trees. If she could not understand the exact words that the locals were jabbering rapidly, she could clearly sense their urgency, their wariness, and their willingness to let people who appeared to have the means to help do just that.

She began to draw.

When Tyrel drew, she drew. Perhaps it was habit. She'd been trained for years to draw as impressively as possible. Stealth was not the purview of the Avatar of Vyshta. The fires winked out and the heat rapidly left the air until hoarfrost briefly formed on the crumbling branches. Xiuyang's success was virtually as spectacular. The distillery and the houses simply... stopped burning, and both women were filled with energy.

Then, from one of the houses came a mother holding a young child, and she was shouting near-frantically and pointing inside. Xiuyang didn't stop to think. Where there was a mother and child, there were more vulnerable people in need, and she was still a binder.

Xiuyang's dash inside revealed an elderly man who was trapped behind a formerly-burning piece of fallen roof that he could not manage to climb over. This also revealed, however, the condition of the building: something that the would-be rescuer would've been well served to take into account before dashing inside. As she made her way towards him, there was a loud crackling 'snap!' and a roof beam fell!

She didn't have time to think about the possible consequences. She attempted to use blood magic to destroy the roof beam. The beam disintegrated effortlessly into nothing, saving the old man's life. However, it was only a few seconds later that the two remaining beams, in a chain reaction, collapsed as well. This time, the very grateful elder wasn't the one in immediate danger, however—it was her. Taking a page from Trypano's book, Xiuyang attempted to burrow herself into a tiny hole, hoping the dominos would stop falling.

The old man doddered out, shooting her a quizzical look but also not about to look a gift horse in the mouth. Xiuyang ended up rather snug in her little hideaway. It was a few moments later when the entirety of the ruin was removed, thanks to Tyrel.

A handful of villagers clustered around Tyrel by torchlight, some clutching their children fearfully, a few looking pained or shouting. Others milled about anxiously, a handful cleaning the destroyed buildings. The final group seemed to be people sitting or lying on the ground. There was vomit in evidence. They were ushering one nervous-looking young man forward. He peered at the pair of obvious foreigners.

"Hi," he began, "I am Alamon." His eyes flicked between the two as they came together, and the others continued to prod him to ask a particular question. He held up a hand and swallowed and a few drew back. "You... Virang?" he asked with an expectant wariness.

A slightly dirty and very sweaty Xiuyang smiled and shook her head. "Salome, of Revidia," she introduced. Her name held the meaning of "peace," and if it helped, she would do her best to embody it. She gave Tyrel a one-armed hug from the side. "Miret, my friend." She kept her phrases simple, so as many of them that had a little Avincian could know what she was saying. "Bring hurt, we heal." She rubbed her arm as if applying a salve.

"Salome. Revidia." He nodded, looking a bit bemused, and a few others nodded and murmured and looked at her with new eyes. "Miret." More than a few glances went to the yasoi's missing leg. "Tarlon?" a few asked, and Tyrel exchanged a glance with her friend. "No," she replied, shaking her head. "Mycormii."

If the villagers didn't comprehend everything that Xiuyang said in its most exact form, they seemed to understand that this odd foreign pair were not enemies. The questions flowed thick and fast, funneled through one man's very broken Avincian:

"You no..." he pointed to his eyes. "Revidia."

A few children kept shouting the same questions in Tyrel's direction and, finally, the man translated. "What..." He pointed to her stump. "Happen?"

"You see many man..." He motioned sleeping. "That-a-way?"

A few of the younger teens jumped up to try to be as tall as Tyrel, but none could match the yasoi. She blushed, slightly. Instead, the taller ones compared themselves favourably to Xiuyang, standing on their tiptoes, giggling, and grinning.

Finally, an old woman came shuffling over with a large bottle and began tapping the translator incessantly on his shoulder.

"Father, Revidia. Mother, ReTan, Torragon," Xiuyang replied with a patient smile and a nod. There were people of Rettanese ancestry in Virang as well, so his confusion was understandable. At his question about many men sleeping, though, she hadn't the foggiest notion of what he could mean. Perhaps he was referring to the dead men hanging, but it seemed like a stretch and she didn't want to scare the children, so she tilted her head in confusion, hoping he might try to elaborate somehow.

Tyrel glanced at her, equally confused. She had her own question to answer and not the slightest clue of how to answer it. "Uh... shark!" she answered belatedly, mimicking big chomping jaws with her arms. She pressed her hands together above her head like a dorsal fin and bobbed back and forth as if she were swimming. A few of the children laughed. Other eyes widened. A few regarded her missing leg suspiciously, and some glanced out at the water.

Then, the old lady was there and the translator had her bottle of—well, both could tell that it was alcohol—thrust upon him. "This give you," he managed, in broken Avincian. "She give you." He motioned drinking. "Thank you. Her man." He pointed towards the splintered ruins of the building beside the still. Other people continued to tap his back and arms and repeat the same few urgent messages at him. With a shout of annoyance in his native tongue, he raised an arm and they backed off for a minute. "This very..." He trailed off, struggling for the word. "Stonk?" He thrust it into Xiuyang's hands. "You have." He nodded, smiling encouragingly. "Thank you."

Xiuyang blinked and nodded her thanks to both of them. "I like it!" she said slowly and boisterously, smiling. "Be well." She wasn't sure if they would understand, but she made the sign of Oraff along with a slight bow.

It was an awkward situation, being the center of attention, having a mix of gratitude, curiosity and possibly suspicion of people she couldn't communicate well with. It made a part of her anxiously want to leave, but she also didn't want to be rude. She looked to Tyrel, as if hoping for some kind of cue. Or an outright rescue.

Tyrel bowed deeply. "Thank you," she replied to the translator and the old woman. "We—" she gestured at herself and Xiuyang "like this gift." She made a 'thank you' gesture in gratitude. "We are happy—" She smiled in exaggerated fashion and pointed to Xiuyang's face as well "—that her man is safe."

She began nodding and bowing and, soon, she had started the entire clearing's worth of relatively short Rettandic-looking people doing the same. She leaned in to Xiuyang. "Hey sistah, let's hightail it outta dodge while the going is good, huh? We'll camp out. You can carry the booze." "Sounds good to me," she replied. "Probably a good idea to keep this away from you. He said it was... stonk." She grinned.

"Are you implying that my constitution is weak?" Tyrel replied, aghast as they began moving. Both had to stop multiple times to wave or shake hands. "Oh, friend," shouted the translator, hurrying up. "No safe. Okay?" He pointed to his eyes. "See all night. Many men walk Ceboyan." Then, with that warning, they made it past the outskirts of the town and into the darkness of the forest and its trail.

Xiuyang glanced back at the translator as he shouted. She had to admit, she was more than a little nervous. Yarsoc was many things, but devious was not one of them. She could see danger coming from miles away there, but here in the jungle, her eyes played tricks, trying to convince her that death was behind every tree. "Think he was warning us to take turns sleeping?"

"I think exactly that, suunei," the yasoi confirmed, "but my delicate constitution requires a drink first in order to stay awake." She held out a hand, hopping a few steps as she did so, and arched an eyebrow expectantly. "I'm pretty sure that's not how alcohol works," Xiuyang replied with narrowed eyes.

"Pls?"

"Pretty pls?"

"With spratz on top?"

"It's mine, betch! Hand it over!"

Xiuyang pondered for a moment that she was wanting for a shot glass, but Tyrel was insistent. "Alright, alright! Just go easy on it!" "It is for yasoi," Tyrel said very matter-of-factly. "Trust me. My uncle said so." She took the bottle, stopped on the spot, and uncorked it. She took one sip and nearly vomited. "Vyshtii bubbex!" she exclaimed. "That's some stonk stuff." She coughed a few times, sinking onto her haunch, one of her crutches clattering loose and falling to her side. She held the bottle up in Xiuyang's direction, blinking blearily a handful of times and grimacing. "Here," she croaked, "take it back. I'm plenty awake now."

"I warned you. It's stonk." Xiuyang replied, smirking. "Let's see if it's any good." It had been quite a while since she'd had anything stronger than a glass of wine. She threw her head back, taking a good bit more than a shot with it. "Hey, it's not actually bad. Not great. I've had better."

Tyrel blinked. Her cheeks were already turning rosy. She rose unsteadily, collecting her crutch on the way. "Heh-heeeyyy, suunei," she laughed, reaching for it again. "I think you're juss playin' hard-to-please." She winked, hand closing around it. "I says the night's a failure if we don't get through it all. You're, like a... dev.. devolver, right?" She blew a raspberry. "We'll be fine."

"Well yes, I have devouring blood, but you're not gonna make it at this rate." She tried to play keep-away with the bottle, but she was too slow. "I'll be our watchful eyes. You should get some rest..!"

The yasoi got a second drink, but they managed to make it to a small clearing nonetheless. Tyrel plopped herself on the ground and began to pull things haphazardly from her pack. "Six bottles of beer on the wall," she started singing, "six bottles of beer..." There was a tent in there somewhere.

"Still coherent enough to sing that song, I see," Xiuyang observed. "Are you really that curious?"

"If one of those bottles should happen to fall..." Tyrel trailed off and considered, seeming infinitely more sober and thoughtful for a moment. She nodded.

"Well, I wouldn't want to steal your thunder, not when you're so close." She smiled and winked, taking over the task of setting up the tent. She could do that much with her survival class.

"Five bottles of beer on the wall!" Tyrel squealed, doing her best to help as she sung. If her balance was normally suspect as a monopod, it was absolutely atrocious here. Nonetheless, she managed to be of some service. Then, when they were done, she stumbled over to her pack and pulled out the hammock. This, she began to set up for herself. "Two bottles of beer on the wall, two bottles of beer!" Xiuyang hummed along and tilted her head to the tune. She stayed busy, binding away to create a fire pit and gather things to burn. And then Tyrel was done. "Sorry, suunei, Just needed to finish." She smiled and continued to fumble with the hammock. "I think we should swap stories."

"Alright," Xiuyang relented. "I'm here to track down Raffie. The little pink one." She gestured as one would to indicate that she was small. "I found her late mother's diary, and I have reasons to believe she stole some of my family's company paperwork. The two books look the same, so I think there was a misunderstanding. You can laugh if you want—it is pretty funny, out of context—but if I don't find that ledger, I'm totally screwed." She rubbed her arm anxiously.

Tyrel blinked. "Little pink one..." She trailed off, face turning pensive. "Does she... always eat sweets?"

"Yes, that one! She's Virangish, though she doesn't look like it."

The yasoi tilted her head. "Suunei," she admitted, cheeks growing even rosier for a moment, "I am... ashamed to say that I don't even know what a Virangish should look like, or a Revidian, a Torragonese, an Enthish." She shrugged. "I was writing notes to boys I liked during geography classes." She smiled ruefully. "I remember that pink hair, though, and that squeaky little voice." She furrowed her brow. "You think it was an accident?"

Xiuyang snickered at the mental image. "She had help from Niallus and that compass that helps him find things, and I know she was looking for that diary. I certainly hope it was a mistake." She said it to convince herself more than anything. She had hoped to exchange them and leave as quickly as she came.

Tyrel considered. "I have... my own purpose that I'm heading towards," she admitted, "and it is a grave one." She tried sitting on the hammock and nearly lost her balance. After some squirming, she managed to pull her leg up and sit there 'cross-legged'. "I have some time first, however." She smiled and held up an arm, flexing. "I can be the muscle if you need." She considered. "Can't help much with tracking, though."

"She's not exactly a force to be reckoned with." Xiuyang giggled. "But thank you. I am curious as to why you're here personally, though." Tyrel seemed avoidant for a moment. "You know... don't you have any tethered friends who could help?" She shook her head. "Would make it a lot easier." She regarded Xiuyang with a hint of anxiety—perhaps it was merely drunken paranoia. She had promised answers...

"I get along alright with Marci, but... I dunno. Maybe not enough for a huge favor like this." There was also Abdel, but she wasn't sure they had left on good terms last time. She didn't push Tyrel any harder. It wasn't as if she'd been entirely forthcoming with what that company paperwork entailed, either.

They continued in a silence that was somewhere between 'easy' and 'loaded'. Tyrel's lone leg hung out the side of the hammock as she rocked back and forth. "You know," she remarked, "instinct tells me I should be higher up in that tree." She shook her head. "How do yanii get any sleep on the ground?" She was circling around towards it, but not quite there yet. Xiuyang shrugged. "I should have packed one, too, but this is fine. One of us isn't going to sleep anyway."

Tyrel nodded. "I don't think either will, to be honest." She swallowed, looking up at a patchwork of stars through the canopy of tropical leaves. "My sister—really my cousin, but we're sisters," she amended, "gave her leg to play my part. She is, this very moment, likely headed to rot in a Torragonese prison... well, one with nice cushions and good food but..." She shrugged. "It eats at me." She held her hand out for the jug.

Xiuyang's eyes widened in surprise. "I don't think she'll have too much trouble getting out. Wasn't Ayla in on the plan?" She handed over the jug a bit hesitantly. "Still, that's dedication. Whatever you're doing here must be bigger than... I dunno." Maybe it wasn't bigger than the revolution, but she silently hoped that it was. The two of them must be very close, if Miret was willing to make that kind of sacrifice. She hadn't offered to take Ciro's place lightly.

Sound about them wavered for a moment, and then again before a sonic bubble fell around the pair. The forest around them grew eerily quiet. "In Tarlon, they pick six little girls who've lost a leg and got too much of the Gift for their own good and bring them together on an island in the Tantas Sea for a weeklong sleepover." Her voice had taken on a funny tone. "The girls have a ton of fun." She smiled, faintly. "They stay up as late as they want, they eat whatever they like, they play a whole series of games against each other, they have musicians brought in to entertain them..." She trailed off.

"They know that they're competing against each other to be chosen as the next Avatar of Vyshta. They're too young to understand that it's a death sentence and their families don't tell them." There was an extended pause. "Maybe their families are believers, maybe they don't want to anger the people in power, or maybe they care more about the wealth and status victory will bring than they do about their daughters."

Tyrel took a sip from the jug and it took her a good few moments to recover. She breathed deeply in and out. "The Avatar doesn't fail to ascend each time by accident." She looked up at the stars, eyes almost flicking over to Xiuyang. "Ten years ago, three of those girls found out that they kill the Avatar of Vyshta before she can turn twenty-five, unless she declines to ascend and is willing to live in shame. That's because it's all a sham, and there's a chance she could be a real replacement. It's Esuul, the empress, who does it, because she and Cascal are often the only ones strong enough beyond a doubt."

Her pulse pounded behind her ears. She'd come out and said it. She was endangering everything, but she'd said it. Xiuyang, her gut told her, she could trust. Stupid, stupid, stupid! It was done now anyhow. "Miret will meekly play her role and follow orders and give all the right signals that she won't be a problem. I'm going to play with time. I'm going to be twenty-five." Tyrel nodded slowly, glancing at her friend. "You've got more going on too," she observed from the other's drinking and body language, "don't you?"

Xiuyang took it all in, and her first instinct was to take a drink, but she didn't. She just held on to the jug, swishing the liquid around and contemplating what she'd just been told. "Well, shit, Tyrel. Compared to that, my own troubles are pretty mundane." She considered for a moment. "Well... The Doge might be trying to kill the man I love, and I'm planning to stand in his way. So I'm a bit scared about that." In the end, she decided to take another drink. "And if I don't get this ledger back, the fallout might... no, any sensible man would leave me." Her voice trailed off, and she swallowed. "But you, Tyrel, I can't imagine what you've been through." She shook her head sadly. Then, she looked her in the eyes. "What do you want, Tyrel? Do you wish to ascend? Or live a long life down here with us mere mortals?" She said the last part with something like a cheeky tone.

"Well, you should kill the doge, simple as." Tyrel nodded as if this were indeed a simple matter, even though they both knew that it wasn't. She sighed. "You and Ciro." She shrugged. "He's strong, you know, really strong." She trailed off. "I fought alongside him in the Trials, spax'yax that was." The yasoi rolled her eyes. "Be careful," she concluded in a low voice. "As for me, though?" She shrugged. "I guess I just want the choice, you know?" She shook her head. "Fuck these eternal god-fuckers and wrinkly old men making all the decisions for the rest of us. Get off the can so I can like... poop in it too, luuca?" Tyrel had definitely been drinking. Had her girlhood instructors ever heard the words coming out of her mouth, they'd have boxed her ears.

Xiuyang lowered her head. It was a complicated matter. He wanted to kill her husband-to-be, but his death would likely cause Perrence to begin their war in earnest while Revidia was disorganized. Setting aside if they could, whether or not they should was another question altogether.

She raised her head back up when Tyrel spoke of Ciro being strong. For Tyrel of all people to say that, it really meant something. She had a hunch, but to hear it from someone like her... Could she really take his place in what might be a suicide mission? She knew she was not a match for him when it came to the business world, but the thought of also being the weaker of the two made her feel conflicted. It was nice to feel protected and taken care of, but if she couldn't do the same, she'd feel... useless. Just like before. "You're not the first person to tell me to be wary of him, but I'm sure he loves me," she replied, her confidence seeming sincere enough.

Tyrel's language made her giggle. "I'll drink to that," she said, doing so. "Let the old men retire, and stop robbing us of Damy's choice." She passed her gourd to Tyrel, perhaps hoping she was too drunk to notice the change. If she passed out, it would be bad for them both. "I guess that's what I want, too. The freedom to live my own life."

"Amen to that, suunei," Tyrel remarked, not noticing the difference at all. She fell back into her hammock, spread eagle, and took another drink, giggling. "Hey," she remarked, almost offhandedly, "think there was anything to those bunch of guys camping and that burning still?"

"Just your regular party fire, probably," Xiuyang dismissed, thinking back to the group of passed-out ne'er-do-wells sitting in their drunken vomit.

"Hmm," Tyrel considered, thinking back to the encounter. "Yeah, sounds about right." She took another sip and handed the jug to Xiuyang. "Hey, suunei, I'm getting tired. I think we should sing the beer song again to stay awake." Xiuyang grinned and joined Tyrel in the hammock. "Ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall..."

Did they ever finish the song? Did it really even matter? Only they would ever know.

Kurai Majokko: Tsundere Gekido

"Fairy tales don't always have a happy ending. I think it was pretty rare, actually..."

---

"Fairy tales?" Kiyo inquired, ignoring the comment about taking her body pillow out in public. Whether she assumed Suki was joking or she thought nothing of the notion would be left to Nyxia's creative imagination. "It's pretty funny how the whole thing happens because her mom's pregnancy cravings were so bad she wouldn't eat anything but one very specific plant. Oh, and her dad traded the rights to their baby for them. Some parents, huh?" She grinned at her own joke as she propped her legs up on the 'VIP table.' The grin didn't last too long, probably because she realized that not many were likely familiar with that part of the story.

She reached up to adjust a pair of glasses that weren't there. "Well, uh, it's nice when the heroine gets to do something besides wait for her prince to come save her, right?" she tried instead. "It makes me wanna do something." She crossed her arms. "Something real nasty. Like... summon a fat ass giga miseria right here in Hibusa Town." She narrowed her eyes conspiratorially at the other girls.

Kurai Majokko: Tsundere Gekido

"Haven't you heard, Rei? 'May you live in interesting times' is a Chinese curse, you know?"

---

The end of summer finally came. For Kiyo, it was always a long-awaited moment, as it meant an end to the unbearable heat and bright sun. Breaking a sweat was now relegated strictly to training, rather than a punishment from the heavens for the sin of merely existing more than a meter away from an air conditioner. It also meant a significant lull in weird tourists from western countries who were obsessed with goofy-looking extraterrestrials and frilly magical girls. If only the former were truly benign entities that came only to study humans, rather than experiment on them. If only all magical girls simply befriended dark magical girls after they beat them. What a better world that would be.

But that was not the world Kiyo lived in. No, the light girls had surrounded Hibusa Town, and the only two solutions were to drive them out or turn them to darkness. Normally, Kiyo would be thrilled for the opportunity to pursue the latter, but their increased numbers made it difficult. Rather than driving them out, it was they who drove Evil Eye's watchful eyes out of the rural areas and back into the city limits. She was among those ambushed while trying to restore their numbers, once she had been identified as the source. It was a lucky thing that she'd received the gift of flight. If she hadn't been so fortunate, who could say what would have happened?

Kiyo observed herself in the mirror, gazing deep into her own eyes. There isn't enough darkness. Not nearly enough. The impoverished rural communities and suburbs had been a prime source of misfortune. She had none to spare to replenish her Mogall when the light girls kept hunting them so efficiently. She would have to let them have this small victory, at least for now. It was yet another straw piled onto the camel's back. Kiyo felt unyielding tension in her body as though she were coiled like a spring, ready to strike like a viper at the next person who displeased her. There were moments that she could practically taste the venom in her mouth as she bit back the bitterness from the undeserving club girls. She was angry with Rei for this intrusion upon their peace, but more than that, she was angry at herself for not being strong enough to remove them herself.

She walked to the club room, having upgraded—or downgraded, depending on one's point of view—from proper crutches back to her cane. She could put a little weight on her fractured ankle, now, and walk with a bit of a limp. She thought it made her walk like that snarky doctor from that western medical show. Unlike Hollywood, though, walking with a cane didn't automatically give her wise mentor cred. That was something she'd have to earn for herself.

She walked into the club room just in time to hear Nyxia's comment, because of course she did. "Even us Kurai girls have standards, Nyxia. Only politicians are evil enough to take someone to a play against their will," she replied, deadpan. She looked around, seeing only the two of them, and checked her watch. "Roche is late. Perhaps we could use a Time Keeper." Roche was not, in fact, late, but if someone was usually early, on time could be considered late, in some circles.

The Hourglass Order

Abyssal Forge - Reunion in the Bowels

---

---

♬

The dark tunnel with shallow, unscented waters grew darker as the collapsing magma lagged more and more behind the desperate tunneler. Whatever had attacked them had either lost Xiuyang or had changed its attention to something else. Still, even with limited range, the Revidian could still sense the obscene quantities of energy being molded by that thing. It was still close and its speed promised swift retribution should it ever be reminded of her existence.

There really wasn’t much to see forward other than total blackness with constant splashing of the increasingly shallow puddles under Xiuyang’s feet. Her feet that, in a split second, no longer had hard land to step on. There was a steep, downward incline where the water, once at a high enough level, would flow down into.

It was the only way, no branching paths or manholes nearby. Lest, of course, she doubled back into the inferno.

Xiuyang proceeded blindly, spurred on by fear. If she were going to die, she wanted it to be in the arms of someone who cared, not in some distant and cold place where even the dead couldn't find rest, and the idea of being a wandering ghost was only romantic if she could actually leave this place and explore the world like she always wanted. The strangest thoughts always came to her when she was hopped up on adrenaline.

Just when she had started to ease up on her binding magic and provide her own light, her foot caught a slope, and she was sent sliding down. She threw her upper body back and reached for the ledge, which she could have only missed by about a centimeter.

"NO!!" she cried, trying to find purchase on any little crack or built-up detritus she saw.

Desperately she grasped for dear life. The bit of moistened filth she clutched upon made the sharp bend she clutched onto all the more painful and inconvenient. But she held on even without the gift to give much help in this energy poor space.

That's right, outside energy was aplenty, but without as much air current the sources were scarce, especially with limited range. A fact made all too obvious to a devourer.

Clack-Clack-Clack ...

There was something below, Xiuyang could hear it now. Inching closer to whatever her fate was going to at the bottom of this chute. Above was a ghost, below was the ominous unknown, clacking regularly like a pendulum. Surely her screams were heard, too.

It was an uncomfortable position, but one that gave her time to think. Above was a relentless, murderous being with no obvious weaknesses she could exploit as essentially a non-mage. Below was something that sounded as if it might be mechanical in nature. Whatever it was, she could have some hope that it at least physically existed.

In this dead place, something moving was either alive or related to her goal of finding the Abyssal Forge, she told herself. In fact, if it was something alive, it was probably an ally. Shoes, or perhaps... crutches. Her blood ran cold at the thought. It might be Juulet.

But also... she might have the upper hand on Juulet, under these unique circumstances. Should she risk it? It seemed as if she had do. How was she even going to climb back up, now? If only she hadn't left the talking box with the other two, she would have some guidance. She could have asked it what was below, or how to get back out. Get out... would she ever get out of here? A decision was made for her as her handhold gave way—a decision that, she hoped, was the right one.

She let go, drew her dual pistols, and faced forward, with some measure of determination.

Down the literal drain. The slide was helped by the consistent dampness of the pipe, but the darkness made the end of this ride a mystery. All of a sudden, her rear found solid ground, well solid muck in this case. Luckily, as gross as it was, it did soften any sort of impact she may have.

It did cause a loud, wet thud however, one that the clacking reacted to without fail. The rhythm had stopped for a moment before continuing.

Xiyang was inside a wider pipe-shaped interior, one with what was once a canal in the center with walkways on both sides. It was drained with only more shallow puddles here and there. Many of the diverging paths were blocked by metal bars, though some seemed rusted enough to break though.

The clacking got closer. And then ...

A whistle? A swift tune to beckon attention. It came from the right, through one of these rusted barriers. With it came a dim light that grew stronger with every tap. Brighter and brighter until a face could be seen.

Of course, it was Juulet.

“Eyyyy.”

Xiuyang swiped the bulk of the water and filth off of herself with a touch of binding. She was not going to fuss over her appearance under these circumstances, but even she had standards. She pointed her guns in the direction of the sound as it approached her.

I wouldn't have been mad if you let me be wrong this time, Shune, she thought with exasperation, lowering one gun and raising the other. She lit up the inside of the muzzle to create a directed beam of light, with less mana or concentration than such a thing would otherwise take.

She loathed this woman—this creature—with every fiber of her being. Yet, if the voice in the mysterious box was to be believed, if not fully trusted, all their lives were threads tangled together into one big knot right now, and she would only bring harm to herself or possibly Yuli or Seviin if she failed to protect her archenemy.

But.

She couldn't let this chance get away from her. This was a chance to speak her mind, just this one time.

"Being behind bars suits you. It's a good look."

The constant tapping that echoed through the sewers was the butt of the spear Juulet had been using to drag her one-legged self through the once rancid maze. There was a small orb of light hovering over her should revealing disheveled look that matched Xiuyang's.

“Well fuck you too.” rebutted Juulet after cocking her eyebrows, her voice unchanged from her normal. Then a pause as she gave a quick head-to-toe brush of the Revidian's form with her violet gaze. “Although, honestly, who is the real trapped rat here.”

The Yasoi grimaced as she assessed the bars. A couple of taps from her spear had some of the rest strip off and with it some of the bars. “So much for high security. Dami be blessed.” the blade grinded against the metal, slowly eating through the barrier that separated the two opposite personalities.

“So, how did you end up alone this time? I thought we were all in groups.”

No comment about Xiuyang being flushed down the drain like sewer rat shit. It was almost disappointing, like watching her tremble in fear of death by a demon was less satisfying than Xiuyang had imagined. Though, she had pretended that she'd found it amusing, just like she pretended that she was okay after what happened in Yarsoc, lest her father whisper in the Doge's ear about some "retribution" or other. "Ambushed by one of those 'ghosts.' Got separated."

The arm holding her raised pistol faltered. Was her rumored aberration madness held at bay? Was this the real Juulet? "Sorry. I'm scared too," she gambled. "I can't let you kill me without one last zinger. But I was going to ask you the same. What idiot left you on your own, like this? Even if a fraction of your power is still a lot, if one of us dies, it sounds like we'll all suffer the consequences."

Juulet sucked in both her cheeks, forcing her lips to pucker up. “Spooky.” was her answer to the mention of specters roaming among them. Her attention seemed to be more on the bars she was chipping through. She was getting there, though it wasn't easy with only one leg and a tool that wasn't made for this purpose. Alone. More than once, after a light grunt of annoyance, did she shoot an expectant look at Xiuyang.

“A fish dumped me here.” it was her turn to answer, and still the nonchalance remained. “And the sun itself was a bit more whipped than I had thought.” she chuckled, leaning her shoulder to the cold stone for a quick break. “Toooooo be fair, there was a headless burly monster about to kill us all.” again with the cheek sucking, only one this time. “Honestly? I'd do the fucking same. Doesn't make me less upset, though.” said the remarkably unbothered Vyshta wannabe, now back to work. The barrier was nearly down.

“Is that what's keeping you from shooting my brains out?” Juulet canted her head, letting her dark and dirtied locks fall to one side. “You definitely looked poised to do so, 'till Shune gave you your brains back.”

"I'm watching what's behind you. I'd hope you're doing the same," Xiuyang retorted. "...So you were with Leon and one of his many mistresses, I take it. I came with Seviin and Yuliya. Did you keep that talking box, or does Leon have it?"

As Juulet's solo prison break neared completion, Xiuyang nodded at her less than subtle request for help. "Back up a bit. I can break it now."

Xiuyang gathered what energy she could—to erect a small sonic bubble around the barricade. No, she broke the bars one by one with consecutive, ordinary kicks. Zeno Sectoxomactex would be proud.

Juulet complied after a loud snort from her nostrils, hopping a few ways back and hardly flinching when the barrier came down. A whistle of appreciation, potentially sarcastic, was warranted. “Big and strong.” she flex the arm that wasn't bound to the spear. “I wouldn't stand a chance against you. No sirree bob.” an impish smirk found its way onto her expression.

The mad avatar hopped her way through the new passage. “No box. It stopped working when he yanked that string off a wall.” she looked around with swift turns of her head like a lemur that had just found some food. “Hmmm. I suppose you came from up, huh? Then ...” she kissed her pointer finger and pointed the opposite direction. “Lead the way? Unless you're taking me hostage.”

"So you noticed," Xiuyang replied, with equally ambiguous sarcasm. "I'm not taking you hostage. The score between us was even, remember?" Her little faux smile faded. "Never mind. You wouldn't."

Xiuyang tried to think. There had been at least one sharp bend in the pipe, so in her moment of panic, she had lost some confidence in her sense of direction. She also wasn't sure how she would be able to tell when she was underneath her destination, now that she thought of it. In other words... she was lost. Just a bit. "Think we'll get lucky and find the Forge right underneath where he told us to go?" she remarked idly, looking around.

Her light stopped moving around when she found what she was looking for: the Impact Site. Ground Zero. The most well-defined butt print the two girls probably ever saw. Above it was the pipe Xiuyang had fallen out of, and since the sharp curve she remembered—and she hoped it was the only one—had gone that way... "It's this way..." Xiuyang decided, avoiding Juulet's eyes.

“We had a score?” Juulet raised a brow after conferring a brief glance toward Xiuyang. “I'm hoping we don't. The box was getting uppity about that fountain. I don't want that fucko pulling a tantrum. Not until I find 'em anyway.” her shoulder rested against the spear-turned-cane as she adopted a leisurely gait to take in her surroundings. A lot of old stone and rusted pipes.

As Xiuyang pointed toward what was essentially forward, Juulet's light orb captured a set of glyphs on what was the end of this drainage room where multiple gated pipes ended, one of which was where the yasoi had come from. The scripture was not only a faded green but was a variant of Hegelan that none of them knew. Nothing less than a fluent Hegelan speaker could get an idea of it. What was clear, however, was the arrow pointing to the right.

“Surely, if it points to somewhere, it must be of SOME relevance.” she made her case, arms open in a shrug. “And if something matters, there's probably a means to get out not too far.”

Xiuyang nodded wearily. She had to admit that Juulet had more reasons to be confident in her plan. "Like I said, it's even. It's fine if you just forget about it," she said, her face a mixture of pain and a forced smile as she chose to follow Juulet's choice of direction.

"More importantly... you said the box stopped working when it was detached from the wall?" It was clear from her tone that she thought it odd. However, she was now trying to use the Gift to search the walls for anything that might be unusual about them.

“Yeah.” Juulet continued with her involuntarily slow stride toward wherever the arrow was pointing. “There was this string that Leon guy tugged off the wall and it stopped working.” her attention was on illumination, being the better arcane mage and doing things no other way.

Xiuyang was onto something. The walls had a lot of cold stone, but there were also other inconspicuous filaments that barely stood out. They were made of different materials, all of them with some metal in them. One, however, had clear energy coming from it. Strong, electrical energy that flowed rapidly. So fast, in fact, that it was hard to follow. But the wire itself was static.

Juulet was yapping on about something involving the box. Hardly of relevance, not as much as the precision needed to weed out the wires from one another and lock onto the right one. It may have caused the Revidian to miss the tonely different “Oh fuck.” from the yasoi. It was unusually quiet for how surprised it made her.

The butt of her spear tapped against the other's hip. The lighting was enough to illuminate a good ten meters in front of them, including the floor. There were bodies. Or rather skeletal remains, bones covered by fried up (but not entirely mummified) flesh and congealed blood all around them. Except for their heads and some of their extremities, the latter other missing or covered in multiple layers of some old, multi-coloured fabric - rather, each was of a different colour. The head was different, it had nothing, but most appeared mummified or downright 'fresh' as far as corpses went. There were about seven or eight of them scattered in their path, easy to miss in the dark. Easy to step on.

Xiuyang jolted, perhaps more than would have been appropriate were it anyone else, but it got her attention. "T-Thanks. ...There's energy in the walls. I think we found our 'something important.' And... the last batch of involuntary explorers?" she theorized.

Now the floor seemed to be of interest to her. She was suspecting a trap related to this lightning in the walls that may have fried the corpses. She was also curious to inspect the blood for traces of the same compounds they were forced to take. If this was the path the others would follow eventually, then this discovery was good news, finally.

Juulet knelt down to inspect their morbid discovery. Each corpse was different, whether it was gender, size, and even race. There was at least one yasoi, a few assumed humans, quite a few hegelans too and an eeaiko was hard to distinguish with dried up features. “I don't know.” concluded the avatar as she passed her digits over the fabric that still coated some of the hands. “They're all wearing this weird wrapped up stuff. It's tight on them too.” she peered over at Xiuyang. “We're still wearing our stuff. And-” manipulating the head was left to the tip of her spear. “I've never seen people die like THIS. At least, you'd see it everywhere. But it's just the head. Also, there wouldn't be this much blood.” the expert had spoken.

She hoisted herself back up and continued, angling every hop to avoid a corpse. They would encounter a few more, all the same. One was bigger than even Ashon, resembling one of those tall folk from ReTan. There still wasn't any sort of rancid smell in spite of all the death around them. There was a smell, but what did a corpse smell like when there was nothing to feast on the flesh? Some sort of dried meat?

They were were at the end of the specific pipe they had been following. The exit was elevated, just over an old basin with nothing but a few corpses. A convenient ladder brought down down into the open container, one of many. To these two, this was more cryptic architecture of a mysterious and almost alien civilization. To any with hegelan notions, they could translate something close to 'Filtration Center' on a few surfaces.

Without warning, Juulet shoved Xiuyang into the basin before the ladder could be solicited. She followed soon after, the sounds muffled by a swift sonic bubble. The light was extinguished and the Yasoi's voice was lowered to a hush.

“Shh. It's coming.”

Inaudible at first, but the heavy footsteps soon reverberated on the metal basin they had fallen into. They were heavy and regular in their irregularity with a constant grinding noise accompanying the foreboding rhythm. In a matter of seconds, the footsteps echoed through the large filtration room they were in. There was something there. Something big. Something human shaped. Something headless.

♬

There were no conclusions that could be drawn. At least, that was what Xiuyang told herself, because nothing good came to mind. A failed experimental method of protection from the unfathomable horrors of this place? Perhaps in finding their way down here they'd skipped some step where they should have received and applied bandages to themselves?

She threw them away with all the other thoughts that would paralyze her into inaction. Then, she screamed. Juulet had predicted her reaction to being shoved into a metal box with a few corpses already in it, thankfully.

Then, she was in the dark with only Juulet and the dead for company, at least until the unfathomable horror of the day showed up. It was a situation straight from her own nightmares, in which she could do little but tremble and cry. Silently, she prayed to Eshiran for deliverance once again, this time with the person she'd prayed to be delivered from last time sitting right beside her.

She had to be strong, but she was powerless. The Doge intended for Ciro to be here. If he knew anything, he couldn't have possibly expected Ciro to escape alive, could he? What did Ciro know? What was he doing right now? Was he praying, too? If she ever got out of here, would he rely on her again if she told him honestly how terrified and hopeless she felt right now? Would she even want him to?

Maybe Ciro would have been doing better. Perhaps this was just another indicator that he was above her level. Maybe he overestimated her. Perhaps they both did. Juulet seemed to want her to be quiet and wait, and she was in no hurry to do anything else.

Juulet was not immune to natural trepidation that came with horrors beyond one's imagination. But monsters were on par for the course when one wanted to change the world. This was another one of these freaks and she only lamented the position she had put herself into for this creature deserved nothing more than to be shown the light of the Gods through a righteous flex of power.

It was still very dark, but there was an unusual, colourful glow they could see shining over the bowl-shaped container they were in. This allowed Juulet to easily find one of the many cracks on the ancient metallic surface and get a glimpse of what was actually going on. Xiuyang was gestured over to watch, if she'd be so inclined.

The colourful glow came from the monster itself. Or rather the very same fabric they had found around the extremities of the corpses were wrapped all around its body. Green, blue, yellow, orange, red ... They all radiated a light as energy was being drawn. With how intense the light was, it was hard to see anything other than the bandages, leaving only to the imagination what that stump between the shoulders could be like. Its feet were also darkened, likely lacking in the same fabric as the rest of the body. It was burly, muscular and its movements incredibly stiff as if the joints had rusted with time too.

There were PILES of corpses littered all over the expansive room full of smaller pipes connected to many tanks and basins. In the center was the very headless thing they had both sensed, at least eight feet in height without a head. And dragged by one of its arms was a body. One that wasn't rendered skeletal like the others. It looked unresponsive and radiated a dim red. Until it was raised high up by the ankle.

“Dami-the-fuck.” she whispered.

The smaller, human-sized body began to wiggle and struggle. No sounds, just arms and leg flailing like it was a fish plucked out of the water. The many lights shined upon the head - the eyes were sunken and the skin dry. It looked to have been a woman once, but the protruding teeth of rigor mortis made it an impossibility this was a fresh face. And yet it moved and there was an undeniable heartbeat.

Until the headless' idle hand, in one robotic and swift gesture, grasped the fabric coating the living corpse, twisted it and ripped it all off in one go. With it came skin, muscle, blood, organs and even some bone. All of it immediately sucked assimilated by the rainbow of death that adorned the mighty horror. The skeletal corpse was then tossed into the basin.

Juulet nearly flipped. Of course it was their's.

Xiuyang crawled slowly over to Juulet to watch the horrific spectacle. It had no head, and ostensibly no brain to speak of, so she thought it might be an automaton of sorts. Its unnatural movements seemed to suggest as much, but any ghost of a notion that the being served the purely utilitarian purpose of protecting the Abyssal Forge was ripped away along with the impossibly alive woman's flesh. This thing did not just kill, it—or whatever controlled, or created it and left it here, seemed to enjoy the thought of torturing its victims.

Xiuyang was impossibly calm, almost serene as the sound of the remains of that woman hitting the metal basin echoed throughout what Xiuyang had decided was a tomb. Her trembling hands reached for her dual pistols.

"Hey, Juulet. What was your purpose in life? Besides just being the Avatar. I mean, what got you out of bed every morning?" She drew her pistols, and in this short moment, her intentions weren't clear.

Juulet's heart hammered her chest. Her palm upon it did little to slow down the light panic that hit what was once one of the most dangerous beings in the world. There was only so many surprises and horrors she could take before it just got a little too close. No crying, no whimpering, just one too many bad surprises.

The hulking monster stood immobile for a moment before performing a pronounced U-turn back into the tunnel it had original come from. With every step that got quieter, the yasoi's anxiety dropped in tandem.

The question was initially met with a grimace of revulsion. What this actually being asked of her? While they were sitting on a creeping puddle of still hot blood from the residues of the corpse. “Good food.” she answered sarcastically, voice still hushed as if the headless was still nearby. “And sometimes the next hit.” she mellowed, just a little, once the echoes of the footsteps had almost completely disappeared. “At the risk of sounding melodramatic, saving the world's a prime motivator. That and getting your ass kissed, I suppose.” she crossed her arms, back against the rust. “Why?”

Xiuyang's armed hands once again faltered as the beast rumbled away into the distance. She didn't put them away just yet, merely rested them on her lap. "Good food is a good answer." She sat there for a bit, letting her heart rest just as Juulet was.

"Because our death felt so close, I thought the truth might finally come out." She grinned impishly, though her whole body was shaking like a leaf. "I suppose I wasn't aware that the world needed saving. What other secrets are you and Ciro keeping from me?"

She stood up, not because her body was ready to move, but because she wanted an excuse not to look Juulet in the eyes, and to be literally anywhere else as fast as possible. She inspected the walls with her Gift once more, closing her eyes and pointing as she followed the wire's path. "There," she said, pointing to an empty door frame up on a catwalk far above the pair of girls sitting in their metal coffin. She walked to the ladder, leaving Juulet to her own thoughts and devices she had to escape this pit of hell they were in.

As for Xiuyang, it was time for some acrobatics. The stairs leading up were demolished, so she was left to climb on what remained, with small sonic bubbles around her hands and feet as she moved. It wasn't perfectly quiet, but it wasn't a screeching cacophony as it perhaps should have been.

“Who?” the light ball formed again, revealing a puzzled look that matched her voice. “You mean the guy you're screwing?” her tone was a tad obnoxious but lacked the sarcastic air she had a tendency of liberally spewing out. “The guy rubbed me as the average pizza-plotter. Boring. I leave that to the schemers I work with.” a wave of dismissal followed her answer. The lack of eye contact left the degree of sincerity up in the air here. “I've been honest with my goals from the start. I know it's a hard concept for pasta-yaniis to grasp. So Shune-kissed in your sneakiness.”

When their next destination was found, Juulet decided in that instant that she could not get up there in a timely manner. Not with one leg and hazards everywhere. With her manas swelled to their maximum ith energy and sweat accumulating fast on her forehead, she zapped right at the door frame just as Xiuyang had made it. She was in a light pant, but leaned against the frame like she was too cool for school. “Trouble in sneaky paradise, I take it?” here came nosy Juulet. A can of worms one couldn't just close.

The passage led to what looked to be an office. The flooring was cleaner, fitting for a working space. The wooden desk had seen better days but was in one piece, as was the rolling-spinning chair Juulet immediately sat upon, causing an unpleasant screech that warned her of its flimsy make. Not that it worked to dissuade her. “Fuck yes, a little break~” there was also a couch, one in far better state than the one Xiuyang was on in the apartment complex. Papers had withered to nothing, as did whatever was framed on the walls.

There was one thing that had survived and was in one piece, however: The wooden box, on the desk, unplugged.

Xiuyang's face soured, but she would allow Juulet to continue her slander. It was better if Juulet thought Ciro was boring and ordinary. It meant he was not on her threat radar—a reputation he might value. "I'll take Shune-kissed as a compliment," Xiuyang replied, finding her nonchalance again as her arms bore the strain of her struggles instead of her heart and mind. This wouldn't last, but it was nice.

Xiuyang wasn't surprised to see Juulet beat her to the door, but rather a little annoyed that she was blocking it like the too-cool school bully she was. "Just that I don't know what he's thinking," she dismissed as she brushed past. All her doubts and fears would be confirmed or laid to rest when—when, she told herself—she saw Ciro's reaction to her return.

She'd had a goal in mind when she saw the wooden box on the desk, but then Juulet mentioned a break, and they both needed one. Even in this state, Juulet had enough power to instantly transmit herself to safety from the bottom of a pit, just once. She would likely need that power again, soon.

Xiuyang dug through her medicine box and retrieved two small pouches of something. She tossed Juulet one. "Eat it, even if you don't have an appetite." She took her own advice, eating hers.

They were strange little things. Thin pieces of savory dried meat rolled up with salty seaweed on the outside, a lightly sweet paste in the center. Was there also cheese?

"So what are you saving the world from, Juulet?" Xiuyang asked as she paced the room, looking for something.

Juulet took the supposed snack, unwrapped it and leaned in for a conspicuous sniff. Then a couple more. It was easy for her to distinguish ingredients, but this mixture was something she hadn't tried yet. It made her reluctant, at first, until she saw Xiuyang eat. The deep monkey brain, or was that instinct more reptilian? In any case, seeing one in created some subconscious trust, and so she chowed down. Slowly, at first, then she wolfed away.

“Mmm, fuck, you huusoi know how to make cheese.” she spoke mid-chewing. She liked it. “Qitoip.” she added offhandedly. She finished her meal whilst slowly spinning on her new throne.

Then came the question, to which she reacted by dimming her light a little. “I think you lot have a name for it.” she took a moment to muse, head trained toward the dark ceiling, letting her hair flow over the noticeable short backrest. “Or maybe it's just the Severans. It's Marhazannet, I think? Basically, end times. Vyshta will, y'know, guide all mortals to the Dream or whatever they call the good option. We don't really have some intricate story or prophecy about this.” her gestures were dismissive, making it hardly believable there was any truth, but she also hardly paused or strained to think of what to say. It was all so seamless and conversational. “It's not something most people, even Yasoi, know about.”

The chair spinning stopped and her violet eyes locked onto Xiuyang's, daring them to look away. “It's begun. And many are unaware. Did you know some of your friends had a hand in it?” no smile, no grimace, only a canted head and a half-lidded, expectant look.

Xiuyang smiled a little. She didn't make the ingredients, but it was her... concoction, she supposed. It felt a bit good. Maybe she really should try to learn how to actually make food. She should have Seviin try some, too.

No, no. Back up. Who cares if Juulet liked it? This was a weird situation. Everything about it was wrong. How could she get so chummy with this monster, just because a voice in a box gave her some unbelievable warning?

Yet, the devil behind her had more interesting things to say than the one on her shoulder—and so, they talked. "Marhazannet. That's the thing Raffaella talks about. ...The pink midget," Xiuyang added helpfully, in Juulet's lingo. Her mother's diary talked about it too. It's full of dangerous ideas and ideals. Enough to tempt someone like Raffaella to try to save the world by preaching the end. Is that what Juulet thinks she is? A destined hero?

Xiuyang glanced back at Juulet just in time to catch her eyes. Xiuyang's went wide with genuine shock. Narrowed brows of denial would follow shortly. "What do you mean, it's begun? No, before that, who are you talking about? I have many acquaintances. I keep very few friends."

Watch who you trust, okay?

The Queen's words continued to gnaw at her.

“No clue.” was her response to the mention of the 'pink midget'. “Got anything to drink?”

The next question was expected, and she would either be drinking or confer a long stare at the other, waiting until she had something to sip before exerting her vocal cords any more.

She would end up speaking regardless. “Some of your not-buddies, then, got involved in something they shouldn't have. Now we have a big bad super-demon on the loose.” Juulet produced an exaggerated nod with wide and maddened eyes. “That's right, Salami, oh yes. Big bad monster that make that no-head look like a chump. Worst in the world, Salami. Can end the world, almost did once, Salami! We're FUCKED Xiuyang!” her voice picked up in volume the further she went, almost sounding like this was some sort of skit to mess with Xiuyang.

Suddenly, she deflated. “But, no really, a grand demon's out. Didn't you notice a missing Yasoi with tits-for-brains and a Huusoi with height-for-brains? Hells, I thought that bastard, Don-Balls, had died over there too.”

"You cooked her alive in the last round of the Trials," Xiuyang added with exasperation. "No one gave you shit for that?" She binded some water into her gourd, the regular one. It was a bit difficult.

She watched the yasoi madwoman lose her marbles. The wide-open eyes made her skin crawl, but she refused to look away. She'd confronted her fears in Mudville. She wouldn't let those eyes break her composure anymore. "Wow. I think that's the first time you've said my name properly," was all she offered in response to the tirade.

"The grand demon of arrogance. I heard about it. So that was what you meant. You said it like someone I know was working to end the world on purpose." With that, Xiuyang seemed to lose interest in the topic, and resumed scanning the walls. Soon, she found what she was looking for. She didn't know what a plug or an outlet was, but the shape was intuitive enough. Unless Juulet found Xiuyang's response to learning about Marhazannet lacking enough to warrant getting up off her throne, the voice in the box would be speaking soon, most likely.

“Nope.” Juulet took a long sip, draining the contents of the gourd with gusto. “Nobody cared because nobody really died.”

The yasoi then shrugged. “Well, it's a bit odd that it happened when they arrived, and they so happened to be the only survivors. I'd be a little suspicious.” she scooted closer by thrusting her hips forward, forcing the chair to inch closer to the desk. Slumping herself over the old piece of furniture, she could barely peek at what Xiuyang was doing. “It's definitely no coincidence the perfect conditions lined up there. Just saying.”

"Roslyn wouldn't do that," Xiuyang replied simply, though her thoughts ran a bit deeper. Finding out who stole my face and spear is a higher priority than ever. If this is seen as the beginnings of Marhazannet, I might become a suspect in a much bigger crime than murder. It's not being discussed openly, as far as I can tell, but if Juulet knows more than most people, does she know someone with my visage was there?

"You're probably right that it was a setup. Feel free to look into it, future hero. I won't be getting in your way anymore." After some more searching with the Gift, she determined that a little lever was preventing the magic from reaching the line, and flipped it.

“Who?”

With a flick of the switch, the radio turned on, but not without a hitch.

“- your comrades have not made it. They - adversity, no doubt. And soon you will too if you do not act quickly.”

“If a ghost - long, then - stirring. And then a horde. - that gate, we - preventive measures now.”

The static was strong and the reception mediocre. They were underground and this box did not seem to be a plant like the others.

“What was that? Oi.” Juulet, in her infinite grace, gave the box a couple of taps. Truly a natural with technology.

There was, however, no response to her approach. Nor could they hear any other voice other than the box's.

Xiuyang stood frozen for a moment, but she had enough wherewithal to get the box away from Juulet before she could smash it into pieces. "It's not responding to us. I think we're eavesdropping. At least, I hope so." She lowered her head. "A horde, he says. A fucking horde. What does he expect us to do in this state? How many people has he fed to this meat grinder to know so much?!" Her grip on the box tightened, causing the wood to emit a creaking sound. She resisted the urge to throw it.

"I'm going to die here," she mumbled with a simple acceptance, her voice weak. "...Hey, Juulet. After everything that's happened between us? We're going to share a grave together. Isn't that funny? Buried and forgotten with some yanii filth that pissed you off? Hilarious," she said, deadpan. She was not laughing. She was crying. Her coping mechanism wasn't helping anymore.

She inhaled sharply, wiped her tears and inspected the walls, again, her hands and feet repeating the same motions for lack of any other ideas, direction or purpose. The mirror... she would die if she tried to escape, if the man's words were true. Someone else would die, too. It wasn't going to save her, but maybe that "someone useful" could do a better job than her. If they could complete the mission, or save Seviin, at least... In the worst case, Ciro could at least bury her, right? For this, he owed her at least that much...

Her body moved on its own while her morbid thoughts continued.

“Probably a few dozens. Maybe a hundred.” answered Juulet offhandedly. Her focus on the box was interrupted by Xiuyang nearly breaking it. In fact, the pressure put on it accentuated the garbled mix of words and static, making most words nearly impossible to distinguish.

Something caught her attention, the same thing that Xiuyang used to bring them here. A singular thread rich with flowing energy that passed by this room. The key word being 'passed', as it continued into what looked to be an isolated door at the corner of the room with glyphs indicated stairs and some undecipherable symbols by it, most faded. This find made it easy to zone out the wallowing human, until her name was mentioned.

“Quit your bitching.” the avatar ordered dryly, her attention entirely on the door. “I'm not fucking dying, which means you're not.” a few long hops later and she was knocking at the reinforced steel door. “Also, there's a different between me being pissed off and being on a bender.” she peered Xiuyang's way briefly. “You'd be giga-dead if I had been really angry. Also, help me, would you? If folks worked here, they had to have away to leave without getting gross.”

As powerful as she was, her capacity seemed to have taken a massive hit. Perhaps even more than the Revidian as she struggled to even make that old door budge.

Xiuyang slowly turned and glared at Juulet, seeming to find herself again. "Killing me would have been kinder than what you did." Her feet dutifully carried her to the door. She traced the frame with a finger, giving it the same treatment as the manhole cover. Then, she'd pop up a sonic bubble and give the door a piece of her mind. "I won't let you say you weren't hoping I'd find a fate worse than death in that place," she said as she vented her anger on the door with a series of rapid kicks.

“Dunno. As I said, bender.” Xiuyang's anger was met with indifference. The door didn't really have a chance when faced with a very angry little lady. With a few well-placed kicks, the door fell and revealed stairs within a tight corridor, leading up. “If I had to think of why I did it, it was to maybe show a tree lover what the Yasoi life is really about.” she was first on stair-braving duty and she definitely wasn't fast.

The orb of light, which was more flame than anything, flickered a little as they ascended. “Air current. Well that's promising.” she remarked just as they met a near identical door as the previous. There was light emitting from it too, the same unnatural one from the office. If one was poised to break it down, the solution would quickly become obsolete as a simple press on the knob would open the door without a hitch. The creaking, however, was awful. “Huh.”

The next room was a plain square and held a variety of shelves and lockers, most of which served to hold guns. Most were gone, but a couple of decrepit leftovers could be seen. Perhaps there'd be something to salvage?

The most interesting thing in the room was what was in the center: A spire of metal and other material that hadn't really been seen by either of them. There was glass too that suddenly flickered with light as they approached. On this very screen were glyphs being generated rapidly and one of three dots above it flickering yellow while the others were a purer white than the surface of this contraption. The biggest sound of light was this machine with only a few light bulbs hanging near the lockers, barely forming a dim light.

Juulet was immediately intrigued by the shiny. With little regard for consequences, she favoured looking with her hand than eyes, and the screen reacted. Tactile. With a mere touch, a variety of new nodes with different symbols on them appeared. Options? “I have no idea what this thing is but I find this extremely fun.” with each tap on one of the nodes, a little beep was prompted with a variety of new options appearing. There were even sliders and symbols she could press to close other tabs!

There were a few other doors, most locked, and only one emitted the lightest draft of air.

Xiuyang followed Juulet, furious with the both of them. Juulet was saying stupid shit, and she was a bigger idiot for wasting more time thinking about what the addict said than she herself did. This woman didn't think about anything but her ego and her next hit.

"...Are you a child? Stop doing random things to it, before it explodes or something," she spat as she looked for weapons she could salvage. This place was a real mystery, but one thing that became obvious was that this civilization was far more advanced, which meant that if any of these were in working order, they'd have a huge advantage. No, with any luck, she would have an advantage, and Juulet would get nothing.

"So... is that all the Yasoi life is to you? Sitting around a campfire, tripping on aberrations and violating random yanii girls that fall from the sky? That's depressing." Her voice was devoid of sympathy. She didn't even know why she said it, or what she hoped to hear. Did she really need more justification to place a bullet in this woman's skull?

How nice it would be to just be able to kill someone without thinking, like Juulet.

Juulet stopped her little machinations to peer over at Xiuyang. “What the fuck is your problem?” she dragged herself closer to the human that had been sniffing about for anything to loot. The Yasoi was slow with every loud drag of her cane through the cement flooring becoming longer as she tried to hasten the pace. “If you've got a problem with me, settle it. Stop being a fucking moody weasel about it.” eventually she was right at Xiuyang's face. “Bitch.”

The draft was a little stronger, evidenced by the orb she had never bothered to snuff out dancing a little faster for a brief moment.

Xiuyang met Juulet's eyes, but she was shaking. Whether that was from anger, fear, or both, it was hard to tell. "You think my sympathy for the Yasoi was just a passing fancy? You sleep soundly at night because I told my father that nothing happened in Yarsoc. Because I didn't want more conflict between our species. That's why we're even. I decided that. Not you. You're welcome," she said with a tone of finality and of pain.

Armed with her new shotgun, she tore her eyes away from Juulet's and made her way to the door that seemed the most promising as an exit. She walked at a sedate enough pace for Juulet to follow, but seemed unconcerned with whether she did or not.

Juulet raised her idle hand at chest-height in a mocking surrender. “Oh no, daddy so scawee.” before unleashing a combination of a snort and a scoff. “Fuck you. You and your country suck.” there was the lightest bit of apprehension once she saw the tool of death Xiuyang had brandished for herself. A reminder that she still wasn't any stronger than this individual who had all the reasons in the world to kill her.

The Mad Avatar, in an effort to blow off whatever steam she was at risk of unleashing, entered a moment of calmness. Something made her furrow her brows. Something wasn't quite right.

A light creak from a door that hadn't moved. A flicker of the lights from the machine in the center that broke the established frequency Juulet had a knack for noticing. An unusual gust that made the flame dance.

Not-so-quickly, she went up to Xiuyang with wide hops. “Just wait a sec.” but this was far too late. The door was already half open. Something from the other side forced it open in the blink of an eye.

Taking up the whole frame was the same, massive monster from before. One heavy step through with the rest of the body lowering itself to fit in. Dragged behind it was not a body this time but an old, mounted gun that had been ripped off from its chassis. It held the piece of metal from the barrel and without hesitation swing it over its shoulder and down toward the duo of girls in one stiff and inhuman motion.

The shockwave of the impact made the door they had left open previous slam shut. An unseen use of the Gift closed the one it had entered from to trap its marks within the room. As it recovered from its opening strike, its body twitched incessantly until it regained its normal, stiff posture and began to walk as if it lacked knees.

♬

Xiuyang knew her words wouldn't be taken seriously. She didn't need them to be. She just needed to say them to her face, and she knew she'd never get another chance to speak her mind to this monster without immediate and irreversible consequences.

She was already dodging away from the door before the beast could even make its move, so sure was she that Juulet's approach meant that a punch or slap was coming her way. A stroke of pure luck that gave her a moment to observe the approach of her slow, horrifying and torturous death, just long enough to notice what she hoped would be a weakness.

She leveled her shotgun, aiming at its knee, and pulled the trigger. The recoil was unreal—it sent her fully to the ground, her usual shooting stance inadequate to brace her. Fortunately, she managed to not hit her head, so well-accustomed was she to falling thanks to her martial arts training. It was a mistake she would not make again. "Cripple it!!" she cried, her eyes manic with terror. "Knees, heels, anything!!"

Juulet was far enough away that stumbling back had gotten her out of harm's way. Now on her derriere, she fumbled to get her spear in both hands and stand herself back up whilst Xiuyang delivered a shotgun blast to the monster's knee.

It mere backed up with that specific leg. There was no damage to whatever was within those layers of alien fabric, but she had managed to burn and rip portions of the outside layer. They were clearly resilient, thick and adaptable but not indestructible. But with only a brief interruption, the headless continued. With a weak stide but rapid steps, it closed the distance between Xiuyang and itself, this time extending its arm out to the side, taking nearly the whole width of the room between its muscular arm and the weapon it held, and brutally swung.

Juulet, despite not being the target, was going to be easy collateral. Just as she had gotten herself back up, she ducked back down, falling on one knee. She grunted in annoyance.

But with this hurdle came an opportunity. Legs, she said? The defiant Yasoi instead aimed for the armpit, aiming to disable that arm before anymore damage could be made.

The spear for stuck. It pushed into a gap between the different pieces of fabric, even piercing some of it, but it couldn't budge anymore. And with that, the horror's retreating arm had the piece of metal repelled her away, nearly breaking the near-Goddess.

“Fuck this, we need to BAIL!”

The spear had fallen after its arm had returned to neutral, dragging the chunk of metal with it. Now was Juulet's turn. It rushed forward, its movements gaining in fervor and speed.

"Run where?! How fast and for how long?!" Xiuyang demanded as she dodged behind the beast, causing it to lose line of sight and charge after Juulet instead. She took the opportunity to pick up Juulet's lost spear and throw it to her, but that was all the aid she'd offer for now.

She seized the opportunity to press herself up against the center console to hide behind it. The significance of the symbols, whether or not Juulet pressing random buttons had brought the thing here, whether or not the console was something important that this headless drone wouldn't destroy, all of these thoughts escaped her as she sought purely to hide and examine the monster's wrappings with her Gift. Was there also armor underneath? Was fighting it truly futile?

The layers of fabric that wrapped around this thing's entire body appeared to hide whatever was within from both harm and sight. A peculiarity that could be noticed upon focusing was how each different coloured piece of alien-cloth seemed to be different in more than just their look. They had an entirely different mana colony yet they all worked in unision like their own greater colony. Each time the monster moved, a select amount of these wrappings flared with energy.

There was something else that made focusing beyond the superficial of the creature more difficult than it should: The massive source of power Xiuyang hid behind. It wasn't just a console, it was filled with energy rivalling anything she had ever seen before, with the exception of that evil eye in the sky that threatened to take the world.

Juulet caught the spear with one hand and instead of trading hits in a losing fight, she opted for a parry. On something much stronger and larger than her. Crazy. Truly a mad Yasoi. Except the moment the spear hit the gun, a small explosion caused it to deflect just enough to whiff.

Seizing her chance, she planted the butt of her spear on to the ground and used the straight pole as a swift means to rise up and deliver a kick onto the recovering headless.

It hit true. And then what? It didn't move. It didn't really feel, nor was it damaged. The Yasoi was just kind of there like an idiot.

It grabbed her ankle and tossed her into the machine spire filled with energy, her back colliding with it pretty hard. So much for it caring about the that novelty.

Repeatedly, Xiuyang had convinced herself to swallow her fear and push just a little further. Now faced with something she feared more than Juulet, a terror she hadn't had time to grow accustomed to, she was losing her conviction.

One more, she again told herself. She would try one more thing. She could not use this machine, but she could try to draw from it, draw to her limits and attempt to burn the bandages away.

Xiuyang peeled through the protective layers that safeguarded this immense and pure energy contained in what would one day be referred to as a battery. Or some very advanced variant of one. The screen flickered as she drew, with only an insignificant grain of it already enough to supercharge an untethered Xiuyang. It was very temporary, however, as she could feel her manas already faltering and ready to burst if she didn't unleash it now.

In response to the stealing of energy, the machine's normal, white lights had turned red with an 'error' alarm blaring from it.

In the meantime, Juulet could barely catch her breath after hurting her back. She struggled to look up a the monster approaching her, this time using its idle hand to reach for her neck and finish the job it had started on the bridge. The yasoi fumbled to find her spear again, eyes transfixed on what was going to be her executioner.

♬

Xiuyang's manas ballooned in power, beyond anything she'd felt before, and certainly far beyond anything she had available to her in this dead hellhole. Now she was the eye in the sky, looking down on this nothing that stood before her. Forget the legs, she was going to aim straight for the heart.

She leapt up onto the console, aiming her shotgun at the behemoth, using it as her focus point to unleash all of the energy from. That was not Juulet's neck it was about to grab—it was Seviin's, or Yuli's, or even her own. It was anyone but her archenemy, she told herself as heat swirled around her body, her hands feeling as though they were burning as they poured magic into her weapon. Her eyes and smile lit up with mania that could rival Juulet's, as she leaned back and took a wide stance. "EAT THIS!!" She roared, releasing a laser beam of intense heat and white light from the muzzle of her weapon.

Before it could lay a finger on Juulet, a mighty beam of searing energy blasted the headless' chest. No longer did it simply recoil, it was forced back in spite of the massive friction its heavy boots were exercising on the pavement. A good few meters back and a hole in the shell were gained, exposing none other than flesh. Some of it burnt, some of it still lightly tanned skin with quite a bit of body hair. It bled too.

“Fuck ...” a rattled Juulet pushed herself on her rear and then eventually on her one good foot. “Way too close.” she looked over her to see the Revidian riding the super-computer, striking quite the triumphant pose. A part of her wanted to make a comment, but for once the wannabe avatar kept quiet. She was also keenly away of what had happened to Xiuyang's body - now at the brink of collapse if she even gets close to overdrawing again.

The beast wasn't done, however. It only faltered for a moment. Its weapon once again fellt behind it, clutched tightly like a babe to its milk bottle. Something stirred with in it. It trembled with its idle arm beginning to flail about while remaining perfectly straight, meanwhile the weapon-bearing arm was adamantly immobile. The whole room shook in the rhythm of the monster's tantrum, looking like it was meant to scream but lacked the mouth to do so.

With this outburst of energy, a couple of doors broke down with their rusted hinges falling apart. One toward their exit, another to another, unknown passage. One where stairs led down just like how they had entered, but unlike where they had come from, the passage was completely flooded.

The light bulbs had burst, leaving the red-light of the computer and Juulet's orb as the only sources of light. They reflected magnificently on the multicolored monstrosity that never relented.

In a sudden range of motion it initially seemed unable to have, it leapt up with superhuman speed and power to crash its weapon down upon Xiuyang.

Xiuyang may have appeared triumphant to an outside observer, but inside, she was reeling. When the attack came, she was too slow. The massive hunk of metal clipped her upper arm close to her shoulder. She screamed as her arm was rendered immobile, broken and hanging limp by her side. She could not draw for that kind of attack again, and she could not fire the gun with only one arm, not without breaking her body even more.

But, there was someone else in the room who still had two arms—two arms, but only one leg to stand on. "Juulet! You can draw from it!" she panted, scrambling to her feet.

The console had been collateral in the monster's assault. Part of its shell was gone and the battery was exposed. Multiple wires were out in the open too, causing sparks to sporadically crack around it. If the alarm wasn't blaring hard enough before, it certain was now.

This thing without a head did not wait to celebrate or verify, it immediately rushed down Xiuyang as she called out, its hand swiftly reaching for her neck. A consolation prize for failing to kill that yasoi twice.

Juulet had rolled away when the attack had come and as she rose on her one knee, she saw her salvation: The exit. Instinct nagged her to go - it was her destiny to survive until the end times.

The Revidian mutt was out for her blood, a good riddance. Surely, she could mess with space-time to avoid consequences. Worst case? She'd be lucky enough to not be one of the dead. The monster was distracted, now was the time.

A breeze came from the escape. A stagnant one.

Xiuyang's neck was about to be snapped. An effortless act by a monster with no mind. Alone in a forgotten city. At the very least she'd be buried.

“BURN FUCKO! BURN!”

Juulet had zipped on its shoulder - a bare foot hooked on one and her nails digging on the other. She was supercharged just like Xiuyang had been, and with her free hand she stabbed the stump with her spear, directing all the remaining energy into the thing.

In a show of ever increasing speed, its metal club was swung upwards, slapping away what was surely going to be a grievous blow. The explosion that'd ensure would be misfired, propelling the monster toward the console rather than imploding it. Disoriented, it flailed about, having since released Xiuyang from its grip.

A final kiss to the damaged chest had it recoiling into the console itself. One unfortunately timed swing of the rusted gun later and the battery was struck. Immense quantities of energy burned into the headless, until it inevitably exploded.

An explosion not nearly as big as it should be. Deadly nonetheless. Most of it softend by a failsafe, a part of it sucked by the headless.

Xiuyang's eyes widened in panic as the beast grabbed her by the neck. This was her just reward for being so indecisive, part of her trying to make peace with Juulet, part of her trying to justify murder. It was now too late to reach the mirror, her one good arm wasting time trying to create space for her to breathe as her vision faded. She was going to die a more horrible death than she could have imagined even yesterday. She tried to scream, but no sound came out.

Juulet shouted, and Xiuyang could only guess who was the intended recipient, until she suddenly found herself on the ground, rattled to her core but virtually unharmed. She still could not see, but she could feel the energy building behind her as the imminent explosion approached. She drew as much as she dared and used her binding to produce a regenerating shield of Oraff to protect herself.

Both gratitude and confusion fought a territorial battle on her face as she looked at Juulet, out of breath and unable to give voice to her thoughts. Perhaps the yasoi would appreciate the moment of silence before Xiuyang decided to resume asking questions from which she'd get no satisfaction.

Then, however, she turned her eyes to the monster, likely thinking the same thing Juulet was: could it really be dead?

Juulet and Xiuyang had the same idea of conjuring a regenerating wall to survive the coming super-explosion. Their range and effective RAS was far too dampened for a teleport, especially when underground, so static defense it was.

Considering the amount of energy they were dealing with, they should have been wiped out. Even with the natural inefficiencies imposed on such power sources. And yet here they were and the blast wasn't nearly as big as it should be. Juulet smelled a rat.

Or was that just the horrible stench of burning flesh?

It came to not surprise that, as the smoke cleared, they would have maybe been better off taking the blast.

The thing was there, partially on fire but appearing relatively unscathed. The wound Xiuyang had made on its chest had worsened, now burnt black and the filaments around it damaged further. But it stood, alive with the flames doing little to nothing on its alien-ish cowl.

“No fucking way.” a distraught Juulet with widened eyes let her arms slump down, utterly in shock. “It sucked ALL THAT?!”

The monster stepped forward, its gait back to this half-limp like it had no knees to begin with. It was closer to Xiuyang with its massively imposing figure, and it needed some new layers.

“We gotta run ...!”

Xiuyang was frozen in fear. This thing was an automaton, a mere pawn, and it was utterly beyond her and Juulet. A terrified smile spread across her lips as she realized Juulet was right, the thing was still alive. "I can't... do this anymore," she breathed, tears streaming down her cheeks as she leapt to her feet and bolted for the only door that even vaguely promised an escape. "I CAN'T TAKE THIS ANYMORE!!" she finally erupted, reaching with her one good arm for her medicine box as it bounced loosely at her side while she ran. She fumbled and fumbled for the object she was searching for: a mirror.

She didn't know how the voice in the box's magic worked. Trying to do this could kill her, but it was better than whatever that thing intended to do with her. She looked into the mirror at her pitiful, hopeless face and felt her stomach drop. The words. What were the words?! The footsteps behind her grew louder, she felt her heart pounding—

"Commuto cum socium alibi!!" she cried desperately.

Every rigid step got louder as its lust for flesh was geared toward the more complete of the two living beings. Its fingers hooked and cracked as it readied itself for the harvesting ritual they had witnessed back in the vat they hid in. Xiuyang was destined to be part of its wicked cowl.

As the words were spoken to the mirror, the stiff hand lunged at breakneck speed. The sheer force of that limb would be enough to actually break a neck.

If she was going to get away, it'd be by the millisecond.

But its hand stopped right before it got within a foot of her body. When she had just finished to utter 'socium' through the ball in the throat.

They were both interrupted.

♬

An otherworldly siren reached even the depths of the sewers. A terrifying sound with no basis in the world both she and Juulet lived in. Ear-piercing too.

The monster stiffened, its arm still extended while the other lined itself parallel to its muscular flank. The outstretched arm flailed in a supposedly random pattern before having its digits dig into the fabric-collar that surrounded its neck stump, tugging onto it in vain before letting go.

The headless turned away from both of the warm bodies and walked toward the exit with the submerged stairs with a gait both robotic and charged with purpose. It submerged itself into the body of water like there wasn't any to begin with, sinking down until the lights from its layers were finally gone.

Juulet was helpless during most of it. Her spear was out of reach, energy was hard to come by and she was sure she had at least bruised a few ribs. When the mockery of life that was their executioner-to-be arose again, seemingly unscathed, she made herself small. Playing the hero didn't work and running was out of the question. She hated this. It felt like the trials.

She bided her time to eventually make it her's again. But the yanii was going to die, and with that everything she had worked for to make this expedition work, as botched as it was. When Xiuyang sought the aid of the mirrors, Juulet used any scraps she could to try and consume space and give precious more seconds to her lifeline.

It was going to fail, her previous overdraw had hampered her abilities further. That was it. Over.

Then the shrieks of an intervening God saved them. The monster, ordered by the alien call, abandoned everything in favor of the sewers' depths. Juulet onto her back, her chest heaving, now just realizing she had been holding her breath the entire time.

“It wasn't supposed this awful.” she mumbled, head turned to where the headless had come from, where the breeze came from.

Commuto cum socium alibi, she repeated as the wails of the damned echoed around her. She'd tripped and fallen and accepted her fate if the object in her hand couldn't save her. Commuto cum socium alibi, she repeated a few more times, like a broken record, each time more quiet than the next.

Why? Why wasn't this working? Even a power that evaded the Knowers could not take her out of this place? Had she already died and gone to hell? Did the "useful person" Ciro had promised her hear how dire the situation had become and abandon her to die?

"You coward!!" she shouted hypocritically into the mirror, which showed only her own crying face back to her. She let it drop to the floor, sobbing. She didn't know what the sound was, only that it was horrible and it either commanded the beast chasing her to go after a more important target, or had scared it away, which meant something even more horrifying was coming.

She shut her eyes tightly and began to focus on her breathing. Each time the wailing came, she inhaled and exhaled with it. Finding a rhythm, she began to set the shattered bones in her arm with her binding magics. It was among the most complex healing jobs of her life, but she took it one fragment at a time. By the time Juulet hobbled over to her, she was nearly finished.

Juulet scurried over to the emotionally worn out Xiuyang, spear back in hand and unflinching toward the otherworldly wailing from the outside. The butt of the spear ended its sequence of taps with a louder thud by the Revidian's forearm. Not quite a helping hand, but a useful rod was as nice as it got with her.

“Up. We got a job to finish.” she demanded with a pokerface and demanding voice. One contrasted by the faint voice of Leon Solaire reaching them with the same intensity as the siren. “We got fuckos looking for us.” she peered over to the exit that would eventually lead them to the surface.

Xiuyang packed away her mirror into her medicine box with the solemnness of someone submitting their last will and testament to a drop box, stood up and walked silently along, lacking the wherewithal to even complain about Juulet's lack of bedside manners.

It must be nice, being so completely convinced that one is a goddess, she thought. Every impossible survival was simply fate rather than a miracle in a long series of miracles that would one day come to an abrupt and cruel end. Yet, in spite of her godhood, Tyrel was such a nice person. What had gone so wrong to make Juulet so cruel..?

Kurai Majokko: Tsundere Gekido

Groundbreakers

---

"All's well that ends well" was something people said a lot. Shuuko and Kiyo had run off to do their own thing for a bit, leaving the Detention Club short one undeniably effective team in Medusa's Mirror, but they were back now. Kiyo had got herself seriously injured, but she would make a full recovery in a few months. While she was gone, whether or not she was coming back had been up in the air—when asked if Kiyo was coming back, "probably" had been Rei's answer, and it didn't inspire much confidence. Shortly after bringing Kiyo back into the fold herself, they'd apparently had a talk, and when asked if Kiyo was staying for good this time, "yup" had been Rei's answer, so it seemed like those two had made up, or something.

Yet, something didn't sit right. Kiyo had made a comment to Roche a few days ago during the first club meeting since her return. You must have been struggling with the loss of your #1 bench warmer, huh? she'd quipped with that catlike "Kiyo grin." Sure, it was no secret to Roche that Kiyo made sure she didn't qualify for any important competitions. She was a terminally unmotivated girl, much like Tsubomi, unless it had to do with "science," whatever that meant. Most likely, it was just an excuse for only doing things that she found amusing. It was the same with her training. She seemed content to be the "weakest" member of the Detention Club. Getting her to spar with any of the other girls, especially Roche, was like pulling teeth. Getting her to actually try, rather than tap out immediately? Impossible difficulty.

What was particularly concerning was how Kiyo's comment could, and ostensibly should have been about the track and field club, but it could just as easily have been a sneaky comment about the Detention Club itself. If anyone who knew Kiyo were to ask themselves if she was the type to hide a snarky comment like that behind a double meaning and plausible deniability, the answer was categorically yes. To make things worse, the gap in strength between her and the other girls had only widened while she was away, trying to solve the mystery of why the miseria in Hibusa Town were so weak. She'd solved the mystery, but the other Detention Club girls had also solved it without her, rendering her solo adventure and resulting injuries moot. It would be normal for someone in Kiyo's situation, who derived her sense of belonging from her "scientific mind" to feel like her presence was unneeded, after all, and that just couldn't be allowed to stand. The club needed Kiyo, and Kiyo needed the club, whether she'd admit it or not. It was time for a pep talk, but the problem with trying to track down Kiyo was that Kiyo knew where everyone was and could easily avoid them, if she knew they were coming. Like waiting for a disgruntled cat to come out from underneath the dresser, it was a problem only patience could solve.

When Kiyo had begun evading Roche, it was picked up almost immediately. Not through any fault in the girl’s efforts, but because Roche had an overwhelming dearth of experience in dealing with evasive Magical Girls. The amount of effort Suki had put into it alone would have made Roche a master sleuth, but she wasn’t the first one she’d wrangled either.

What gave up the game for Kiyo was her policy of complete avoidance. If she wanted to miss Roche, then logic dictated the safest place was one Roche would either never think to search, or one she knew so thoroughly she’d consider it already cleared.

The other girls of the detention club wouldn’t consider that Roche would simply ask for the help of other clubs. While Roche was a workaholic there were still other clubs that went later than her, and being the Captain of the Track team did put her in nominal contact with the heads and captains of other groups. She’d never go so far as to say they were friends, hardly even acquaintances, but her reputation was enough that if she asked for a sighting of a particular girl on campus, her phone wouldn’t be silent for long. It was an association that was rather useless against Suki who enjoyed her Transformed state, but Kiyo fell into the net without realizing it.

The Rule Keeper's schedule was like clockwork, going through the same motions every day, and after confirming that she'd left, Evil Eye flew from her hiding place behind the nearby locker room building, took her position at the starting line, and untransformed. Indeed, she had come here to do more than just avoid Earthshaker. She took a breath, and her first step.

♬

It was the flattest, most featureless terrain one could ever hope for, and it was only one lap—but for how much she was struggling, it may as well have been a mountain. "You promised yourself that if you ever returned, it would be a triumphant return. So, you have no one else but yourself to blame for this. No excuses. Compared to the burdens you used to carry, this is nothing!" she told herself. Foot, crutch. Foot, crutch. "There aren't even any light girls chasing you this time. No time limit, no Roche barking at you to move faster. You just have to keep walking."

A bit more than a third of a lap later, and her arm was really starting to feel it. Her legs were reliable when she could use both of them, but cultivating upper body strength wasn't very ladylike, so she really wasn't prepared for this. "Halfway there..." she lied. Temptation came to her, but she had left her bottle of pills in the locker room on purpose. Prescription dosage only, she'd told herself, as she tried to stretch out that single bottle of pills as long as she could to make it last. "This is LIGHT work!!" she declared to herself. "LIGHT FUCKING WORK, BABY!!" she shouted in English, increasing her pace. "YEEEEEAAAAAAHH BUDDYYYYYYY!!" she roared as her muscles burned.

Her newfound surge of motivation lasted for about 20 meters. Each step was taking over a full second of psyching herself up for it first. Her arm, in particular, was shaking, threatening imminent muscle failure. She wouldn't be able to go much longer like this, and even the delusional Evil Eye had to know it. Her goal had changed. "Halfway there," she told herself. "Just get... halfway..." she panted. At this rate, that would be a few more minutes. She wouldn't last that long. Her last few steps had already looked as if they could be her last.

Roche had taken a moment to confirm the text message with Kiyo’s location before transforming and bounding across the city. Cutting wind pulling at her cloak as she back tracked to the school, her arc taking her high enough to see a smudge upon the distant field before coming down for another leap.

As Roche’s feet came down upon grass surrounding the track she dispelled her transformed state after a cursory glance if any of her catspaws had remained, advancing at a sedate pace. It wasn’t as if Kiyo had done anything to enrage her beyond her usual smartass remarks, but it was clear to see the girl was putting herself through hell with her physical therapy.

”You know it feels good in the moment, but when you scream like that you’re expelling what little air you have left.” The Track Captain supplied, coming along sideward of Kiyo. Her expression was neutral, a curated mask as she suppressed the stern demesne she often wore when on the field. Even Roche could see Kiyo wasn’t here looking to be a track star. At least not with the crutches still in place. ”That’s half the reason physiotherapy includes the therapist. They can do the motivational shouting for you, Kiyo.”

Kiyo jolted, startled by Roche's sudden appearance, but she managed to keep her balance. She had eyes all over the city, but they were of little assistance if she was focused entirely on what was in front of her. After spending a few seconds averting her eyes from Roche, mortified that she had been caught shouting catchphrases she'd learned from fitness influencers, she seemed to decide that the best course of action was to press on like nothing happened. "You say it's 'motivational,' I call it 'condescending.' I don't need to be told 'good job' just for standing up and walking only a few meters by myself to the restroom, or 'let's stop for today' when I can keep going. If I let some idiot human who doesn't know anything tell me what I'm capable of, I'll never make any progress." She took another labored step. "I know you've been looking for me, with that look on your face like you've fried your brain thinking about something. So, what is it?"

”You remarked about a bench warmer for the team. I’d have taken it for black humor if you hadn’t gotten serious about dodging me. Granted, given your condition, it’s impressive you’ve pushed it this far.” The Track Captain reached into the pocket of her windbreaker, hoisting out a mini-water bottle and holding it to the struggling girl.

”I take my responsibilities seriously. It’s why I drive my team hard, and it’s why I have a stick up my ass in the detention club. Do I think anyone in our Track Team will go professional? Probably not, but I’ll give them every tool I can to make it happen if they want it. Same for Magical Girls. Hibusa Town is…Safe. But when we saw the Giga Miseria, we all could have died. One bad slip and we’d be giblets on the sands.”

A statement truer for Roche then most, and frankly Tsubomi was too apathetic to be haunted by any near death experience. Standing there with an offered bottle, Roche was unwavering in her gaze towards Kiyo. ”So Kiyo, you seem to be motivated for a benchwarmer…”

Kiyo opened the water bottle with her teeth, spat the cap out, and threw it back like it was a shot of alcohol. "See? You know exactly why I've been avoiding you. It's that attitude of yours." She lobbed the empty bottle back to Roche and turned her attention back to the track. "I just knew, after seeing me look so fucking pathetic, unable to even walk between classes without breaking a sweat, you'd have to say something, because it's your responsibility." She took another step. "Of course I'm motivated. Rei's left me with no choice. I thought maybe, if I took some time off, she'd realize that you can't do it all on your own, get off her lazy ass, pick up some slack for you... maybe even get back in touch with the rest of us and realize that we're fucking scared, because Hibusa Town is not safe, Roche. It just isn't." She took another unsteady and uncertain step.

”That’s…fair.” Roche caught the thrown bottle, letting her eyes drift downwards as she tasted the bite of Kiyo’s tongue. Time proved the great equalizer and those who’d already clashed with Ashbringer had time to process the threat. Kiyo, however, was finding herself under immense threat and at her physically most vulnerable point. Worse was the absence of their mercurial leader, and the clear failure of Roche to fill her shoes.

”I’m scared too. We’re discovering stronger Magical Girls…Stronger Miseria. You know I nearly died on that beach trip. If I hadn’t fallen just right I’d have been choked to death by pirates. No one would have even cared either.” A note of bitterness crept up her gorge, but it settled with a gusty breath and she drew alongside Kiyo, keeping pace with her hobbling steps. ”But no one is going to help us except each other. We don’t have the time to pray for Rei to sweep in like old times. Honestly she might not even be stronger then our enemies…”

”I can’t beat them alone. But I can break every bone I have trying to protect this Club and everyone in it. At least let me help you.”

Kiyo took a breath and sighed. "Helping each other sounds nice. Tell me, when are you gonna let someone help you for a change? I hate watching you turn everything and everyone into your 'responsibility.' More than anything, I hate it when people fuss over me. If that's what the Detention Club represents, then of course I'd want nothing to do with it." Regarding the invisible halfway mark of the track with fond eyes, like she were bidding a friend farewell, Kiyo abruptly abandoned her quest to drag her face across the finish line, and used the last of her strength to take an overhead swing at Roche with her crutch. It was slow enough that she would catch it. "Finally, we had some common ground. Then you had to throw self-loathing bullshit in there." She struggled in a tug-of-war with the crutch, attempting to break free while Roche just tried to prevent her from falling and hurting herself. "Really, you've got some nerve coming out here to give me a pep talk, when you're talking about yourself like that!" She growled as her strength waned and her body threatened to collapse into a heap on the ground.

"You know, I really thought this club would fall apart without me, if Rei didn't step up—but look at you! Joke's on me! Turns out you could handle it all on your own. Here you are, keeping the club together in my absence with shoestrings and duct tape!" Her voice cracked a bit. "Good job! No, really—I'm impressed." She narrowed her eyes in a mixture of anger and pain, and scoffed. "I mean, shit, I had some self-awareness that my unofficial third-in-command role wasn't really that important, but I guess my idea of us being some badass 'Supervisor and Enforcer' team was just a farce! You're the one who's the irreplaceable glue holding us together, and I'm just playing pretend over here—so tell me, why are you the one feeling sorry for yourself, huh?!"

The attack was impulsive and slow, easily caught in hand. Where difficulty paid its heavy head was the struggle not to let Kiyo’s thrashing send her to the ground as she poured out her vitriol like a lanced boil. It concluded the only way it could and Roche lunged forward, arms sliding under Kiyo’s hold to arrest her fall without harming her further. Coming down upon the rough track wasn’t the best of places to fall, but as they settled Roche didn’t expect to rise soon.

”You think I’m handling this? Kiyo, none of the others respect a fucking thing I say! The only reason they didn’t leave the beach vacation early was because I had to beg them!” Roche fury felt like flames licking her lips, but she let it go no further then that as she let Kiyo go entirely and leaned back.

”If Ash wasn’t gunning for us the rest….I don’t know, cut and run? Hold a drug filled orgy till the fire came down? I do not have a handle on this. We are being threatened by a team that is older, stronger, and seems to know just about everything we do. You’re damn right I’m doing everything I can to hold us together. The alternative is waiting to be slaughtered.”

Kiyo let out the rest of the air in her lungs with a heave as they both dropped to their knees. "Finally, we're getting somewhere." She cooled off, catching her breath. "You say you're struggling alone? That's all the more reason why you should be relying on me. You wasted a total of 38 hours trying to track me down when, even if it was a lie, all you had to do was text me 'Kiyo, can you come help me with this' and I'd have dropped whatever worthless homework or phone game had my attention and been by your side before you can blink. Maybe there isn't enough sweetness and light in my heart for you to call it 'care,' but I do have my pride! If it were me, I wouldn't watch some ass clown stomp on my underlings and let it slide like Rei! If someone hurts you, I'm getting even! So don't you dare go full depression club on me and act like you don't matter! You got that?!" Darkness was welling up in her eyes, so she closed them and looked away.

”You’re the one who ran off on their own and has been hospitalized. Why would I think you’d answer the phone if you’re actively avoiding me, either!?” Roche snapped testily now that Kiyo’s own passion was roused. "I left because I was at my wit's end! I take some club responsibilities from you, and you just add more to your own plate! Like a mother bird pushing its baby out of the nest, it was time for this 'club' idea to fly or die. Call it tough love if you want." Arrogance and hypocrisy roiled off the both of them. If Kiyo wasn’t already on crutches Roche may have lunged at her but instead she leaned back, hands splayed upon the harsh track as her head tilted back to take in the afternoon sky.

”You could have made an offer, Kiyo. I’ve been burned by just about everyone and I’m getting so. Damn. Tired.” A loud, gusty exhalation. Her chest deflated like a balloon and she looked down at Kiyo directly. ”Of asking for things I’ll never get. Of hoping for things I can’t ever even dream to have. My Powers are literally centered on taking beating after beating on my own. So, yeah, I’ll keep trying to shoulder this weight, but if you really wanna help? I’ll take what I can get, just as soon as you get off your pity party and finish that lap.”

Kiyo looked like she had several things to say the entire time Roche had been talking, but the demand that she finish the lap trumped it all. She looked at Roche like she had just asked her to grow another leg. How easily could someone ask for the impossible—but then, she seemed to understand. "I can't go any further on my own." She looked at the half-lap that remained as though it were some vast, unfathomable obstacle. "But since you volunteered to be my physical therapist, I guess I can keep pushing. I'm only going to do it if you keep talking, though." She turned her face and flipped her hair defiantly. "You got to see me act uncool and spell out all my feelings like some light girl, so tell me what's on your mind, or I'm packing it in for the day and throwing a literal pity party, just for you. A super embarrassing one, with an emo lava cake full of dark chocolate."

Surprisingly the member Roche spent the least time with clicked the easiest with her. Rising languidly to her feet she stood at Kiyo’s side, not offering anything more then her company for support. If she insisted on embarrassing truths, Roche was ready to oblige.

”Well I got pushed out of the closet and rejected all at once. I know, a lesbian Magical Girl isn’t a big surprise, but Nyxia wasn’t receptive. I’m having nightmares of being drowned to death. Oh, and we met a Magical Girl under the ocean and now she’s signed up with Ashbringer to spank us. Considering that she was the one who told us about Giga Miseria, I’m terrified by the gap in power between us, as well!” Roche was working herself into a good rant, lips widely splayed with a touch of rapturous mania.

Kiyo forced herself up, holding the crutch with both hands like a wounded warrior with a sword plunged into the earth. She grinned proudly, like she ought to be praised for getting up despite Roche not offering a hand. "Damn, Roche. Down bad for Nyxia? That's rough." She took a step, her short moment of rest having done some measure of good. "I'm what the boys call 'frigid,' so I can't really relate. But, as a practical problem, it seems like one that would sort itself out over time. Humans can't relate to the problems of magical girls. Magical girls, after a while, can't relate to human problems. It's only a matter of time before they get frustrated and try settling for what's within reach. But if it goes against their former nature, they might find out later that they're unhappy. I know you probably don't want to hear it, but even though rejection is hard, it might be for the better to have a little heartbreak now, rather than a hell of a lot later, if the girl you like suddenly meets someone that can remind her she's straight... or you wake up one day and realize that you're the one who's unhappy, because your partner thinks sex is boring." Kiyo spoke frankly, without making fun, making light or dancing around the topic. The last part carried a different kind of weight in particular, like she wasn't speculating or speaking theoretically.

”Sheesh, it’s not like I wanted to put her over a table and eat her!” Her groan was loud and vociferous, questioning how she had wound up being seen as the horny one when they’re team had Suki on it. ”But that girl has…issues. And I have issues. It wouldn’t have been bad to share them.”

It was a horrible foundation for any relationship, and she could see with the benefit of distance that it was entirely one sided. Given her revulsion of Oros’ antics she was likely straight as an arrow as well.

Kiyo shrugged, and took another step. "If you think of the moment you became a magical girl as a sort of rebirth, we're all pretty young and still figuring this out. Maybe one of the others will come around, or maybe they won't. But also, you've known Nyxia for how long?" She glanced at Roche as she prepared to take her next step. "I know you said you got pushed out of the closet, so it's not like it's your fault, but it sure doesn't help. Your takeaway seems to be that you're an undesirable partner, but, I think you're barking up the wrong tree, personally."

Roche’s head tilted in acknowledgment of Kiyo’s advice, feeling some added weight that seemed born of experience. ”But if we really can’t get past this shit ahead of us, I don’t want to have spent my past months alone and cold. Maybe I push you girls a bit too hard, but it beats the alternative.”

"...Yeah. Being alone and cold sucks." There was something in those particular words that Kiyo seemed to find relatable. She glanced at Roche with eyes that seemed sympathetic, conflicted, or both. "So... You said another Kurai girl just told you about Giga Miseria?" she asked, changing the subject. "That makes me feel a little better. Like figuring it out on my own wasn't completely pointless."

”If we hadn’t decided to swim off into the ocean looking for deep sea Miseria, we never would have learned anything. So nothing you did was meaningless. We just got lucky.” Roche said that, but in the back of her head she still had some doubts about that.

Reaching out her hand gently clapped Kiyo’s shoulder, mindful not to topple her. A small, commiserating smile stretched across her face as she pointed downwards.

”And you just finished your lap.”

"Huh? No, I only just started—" Kiyo began, but she looked down and found that she was, in fact, at the starting line. I thought it would take all night to get this far. I wasn't ready for it to be over yet. Nothing feels resolved. She looked between Roche's smile and the line on the ground, awkwardly, and looked away. "W-Well. Imagine that. I guess that means I win. You'll be leaning on me from now on, so look forward to more of these therapy sessions." She tried to make it sound like the matter was settled as she grinned proudly. "But you know, I'm not done walking yet?" she added quickly. "I still have to get back to the locker room to grab my pills?" She sounded like she was still unsure if she would make it that far.

”I’ve got nowhere to be. But fair warning, you’re giving yourself a shower. I’m no Suki.” Roche said with faux severity before letting the grin emerge once more as she directed them towards the lockers. There were far worse things then walking a club mate home.

Kiyo smiled patiently. "I didn't say you were. Nor do I think your desires are weird, or gross. I just can't relate." She took a few steps in silence. "There's no reason for you to be alone, though, is there? If we both get left out in the cold, we can at least be cold together." She said it as though she were teasing.

”Careful. Keep talking like that and you might turn back to the Light Girl side.” Shaking her head in mock dismay Roche released Kiyo’s shoulder to let her walk fully on her own power. It just so happened neither of them were walking alone.

"HAH!" Kiyo barked, wincing in pain. "My God. She found a sense of humor. Where did you dig that up—the same hole you dug me out of?" She smiled, wheezing as she tried and failed not to laugh. "Ouf. Enough comedy..." she said with some regret, catching her breath.

If your powers are based on being a punching bag for others, then...

...are mine based on helplessly watching as my pride and joy are destroyed?

Forget it. I won't let it happen.

I'm a bit scared to say it out loud, since you're so serious, and I'm so un-serious.

But, I think I'll try just a little bit harder from now on.

Whatever magic helped me finish that lap, I need you to give me some more of it.

Do You Have RP Pet Peeves?

When I think of pet peeves, I think of mostly harmless behavior that just annoys me personally, like loudly chewing with your mouth open in public and smacking your lips when you clean the Dorito dust off your fingers oh my God James please stop you're actually a savage.

If I have an RP pet peeve it's that moment when I've just had my character have a passionately negative interaction with another player's character and I immediately see them typing in my DMs on Discord. I know what it is. "Hey, we cool?" I get it, you're trying to be the most unproblematic person you can possibly be, and I actually love you for it, but please stop, because now my own overthinking ass is wondering if I'm subtly coming across as a self-inserter with an axe to grind rather than someone trying to play a flawed character and maybe I'm the asshole for not communicating OoC ahead of time that my character was going to snap at yours but if I do that you might think I want you to edit your post and we'd get robbed of an interesting character moment for both of us and yeah I'm not letting that happen sorry I'm an IC drama queen.

Yeah I'm probably the problem. That's what I think of when I think of pet peeves though.

Kurai Majokko: Tsundere Gekido

"Why must you hurt yourself? Can't you see I'm in pain, too?"
~~~
"I've made progress, haven't I? So, why does my heart still hurt?"

---

Shatterscape thought she had left behind an orderly house. She had talked it through properly with Rei, explaining why she wanted to investigate the city near the coast and had everything figured out, cover story included. She had said her good byes with a heavy heart, but she thought she had the lead on something that could improve her body-shaping abilities. It seemed to have been worth it when she started out. Now, as she marched through the hospital, barely restraining herself from ripping doors off their hinges, it proved a worse than useless endeavour.

She should have gotten injured in Evil Eye’s stead!

Teeth grit, she leapt from door to door, hallway to hallway, leaving a whirlwind of people and objects in her wake. The sheer force of her approach turned the hospital upside-down, but she refused to care as she menaced everything in her way. Her gauntlets slammed nurses into walls. Her legs kicked doctors aside. She bent hospital beds that dared to interrupt her. She almost ripped doors off their hinges.

When Kiyo awoke to another hospital, it was in a cold sweat. The buzzing of the incandescent bulbs was as unsettling as ever, and caused her to remember her encounter on the train. Her injuries were the same, the beeping of the heart monitor was the same, and it was roughly the same time of day, the light from the window being just as unbearably bright.

She had to call a nurse. She had to know that waking up in the City of Light wasn't going to be a Groundhog Day hell she'd have to relive over and over until she'd lost her mind. When the nurse arrived, her first question was where she was, and she breathed a sigh of relief when she learned that she was, in fact, in Hibusa Town, and a girl named Rei had dropped her off. Once Kiyo had calmed down and had some water, she turned her attention to her phone. It had been turned off—maybe to save the battery? Or to keep the nurses from answering to a frantic Shatterscape, she thought.

As if on cue, Kiyo could hear something tearing through the hospital. Something powerful. A magical girl? She was about to transform and flee the scene when, suddenly, she heard a familiar voice echoing, calling out her name. “Evil Eye!” she shouted. “Evil Eye!” Another door. It creaked. The wood cracked. People were running. Shouting something. Trying to run away. Madness beget madness. And then... Shuuko's phone vibrated.

Shuuko

save me

room 404

Kiyo listened as the havoc in the hospital quieted down, then suddenly moved right above her.

304* she corrected, snickering.

A room’s floor ceased to be at the gentle insistence of Shatterscape’s gauntlets as she pierced through. Bricks and mortar pelted her like rain from the sheer force of the blow, but it was nothing because her friend needed help she was injured she was right here she was—eating bad hospital food. Kiyo had sent her a picture of it. Yes, this was the "emergency."

Shatterscape blanched. She paused mid-strike as she had been about to obliterate a wall to get to her goal quicker, then grit her teeth. She was going to have words with that damned girl; it was one thing to play harmless pranks, but quite another to threaten everyone with her life. Resolute as such, the self-titled high priestess marched through the hospital at a much more sedate pace before tearing off the door of Kiyo’s room for real, ready to give her a lecture.

Even Kiyo had to be a bit startled when the ceiling outside her room collapsed. Oh, fuck. Maybe I went a bit too far. Did Rei not even call Shuuko? Seriously?! Then, the door wasn't so much opened as removed. What Kiyo saw would have been more frightening than anything in the City of Light if she weren't so certain Shatterscape would never harm her. Even so, she lost the fight against her instinct to transform immediately upon seeing that furious face. She felt her broken bones snap into place. It wasn't painful, but it was certainly strange.

Hotaru stepped forward, instead. Shatterscape reeled as their relative unity broke for a moment, just enough for the girl to claim the body as her own and pilot it across the room in a blitz then into a hug as her Herculean Gauntlets disappeared into motes of gold light just before Hotaru could have vaporised Evil Eye. Instead, the other girl “merely” ended up on the receiving end of a bone-crushing hug. “You’re all right!”

Evil Eye felt her ribs get pushed right back out of place again. "Aitatatatai! Sh'ko!" she managed as air was forced out of her lungs. She returned the hug for just a moment before starting to tap out. When she could breathe again, she reached up and patted Shuuko on the head. "I'm alright, Shuuko. I thought you already knew," she lied. "So please, don't cry. You were right, I shouldn't have traveled alone. I fucked up. Me. It's not your fault, okay?"

Even the self-styled scientist Evil Eye would be lying if she said that she fully understood the nature of Shuuko. It seemed to her that the girl with the mirror, Shuuko, fittingly enough had two sides to her: the self-proclaimed "high priestess," a good-hearted girl who was a model student, would do anything to protect the people she cared about, and got easily infuriated by obstacles she couldn't overcome easily as a result of her own high self-standards. Then, there was the "bad Shuuko," who when coaxed out of whatever shell she resided in, eagerly joined Evil Eye in her schemes, and might have appreciated her joke from earlier. It wasn't a perfect theory. There were times like this when Evil Eye made a bad call and ended up hurting Shuuko's feelings. She wouldn't bother to apologize to the Shuuko who was hurt by her text; she would simply adapt to whichever Shuuko happened to take over at this moment. This was the Shuuko that needed to know that Kiyo was going to be fine, and she wasn't a failure just because a bad thing happened.

Hotaru looked at Kiyo with a wide, beaming smile despite whatever damage she may or may not have inflicted upon her companion, not to mention her surroundings. Even now, there were panicked shouts from people evacuating the building as the staff tried their best to organise way too may people. However, Hotaru cared not for such things—she only wished to talk with Kiyo after such a long time. The others were in disagreement for once, though.

As such, after a second or two of the hug, Evil Eye could feel Shatterscape shift again as she leaned away, now possessing the very same set of cold, calculating eyes that lay upon Evil Eye when the demonic-looking dark girl entered the room. ”Has the observer of the heavens,” spoke Shatterscape as she lifted her left hand to trace Evil Eye’s jaw towards the middle of her neck, ”Thought about what it means to defraud a humble high priestess with false astrology?”

Evil Eye smiled wickedly as Shatterscape's finger found its way under her chin. "These eyes see only what is true—but these lips? Well, they speak from the heart, and the heart is, as they say, deceitful above all things, and desperately sick." When Evil Eye was transformed, it was nearly impossible to trace even a hint of what she was feeling by looking at her eyes. Were they wide open because she was fearful? Delighted? Amused? Enraptured? "And I am so desperately sick, my dear high priestess, and knowing you still care is the only cure for what ails my troubled soul."

She turned her back to Shatterscape, still smiling. "Though perhaps, in this case, prevention was the best medicine after all? So I will make it up to you..." She tucked her hair away and lowered the back of her kimono, exposing her dark magical emblem. "Touch it, and you will know all that I have seen... or I suppose you may finally smite this evil doer, if it pleases you."

“It matters not what you show this priestess!” Shatterscape responded, reaching out for Evil Eye’s shoulders to turn the Dark Girl back towards herself, and at this, even Evil Eye's notoriously invincible smile faded. Shatterscape's voice broke its usual cadence, almost snapping at her companion. “It matters that you were injured beyond the pale and yet you play it as though it were a fool’s game. Astrology and the divine are interlinked as one—how can you treat one callously while you care for the other like a precious offering bowl?”

”Is… is the concern this humble high priestess shows… so callously disregarded? Is the way she longs for the prediction of the heavens too obscure for one’s observant eyes? This humble high priestess wishes to know, for to invite harm on her well-known observer of the heavens is to invite her wrath. But said observer of heavens seems, to this humble priestess, to fail to observe such motions – for they are of the terrestrial sphere instead of the celestial one the observer longs for.”

The two girls locked eyes once more as chaos unfolded around them. The fire department had been called and were looking for a gas leak that might have explained the "explosion." Evil Eye's ears ignored their shouts, focused intently on every word of the high priestess, though it might not have appeared so. Her speech was esoteric, and would likely be dismissed as nonsense by about half of the Detention Club, but Evil Eye deciphered their meaning after only a few seconds. "Ah. That's why you're mad," she observed, with a tone that would have come across as insincere from anyone but Evil Eye. "It's not, 'even without the observer, the heavens remain,' but rather, 'without her interpreter, the high priestess will feel lost.' I see."

In simpler terms, Shatterscape was lonely, and also hurt that Kiyo didn't take better care of herself. "I have seen your heart, Shuuko, but it appears I have been away from the mirror for so long, I've lost sight of myself. Forgive me." Her smile returned, and she reached out to touch the girl's cheek.

”It is a fault as old as time.” Shatterscape nodded, her expression softening slightly, though her eyes were still as constants in the sky. ”Please make no mistake. This is the only thing this humble high priestess will ask of you: to not forsake the hand she extends towards the observer of the heavens.” She let out a long breath as she closed her eyes, the motion contrasting against her appearance. An Oni should not show trepidation as she speaks or contemplates the future. Making no move to remove the hand on her cheek, Shatterscape let the touch linger for several seconds, even as the fire brigade tried their damnedest to figure out what the hell happened here. They were searching the hospital room by room, much like her earlier, just less violently.

“You know, Evil Eye,” spoke Hotaru as Sylvia’s and Ember’s cooled heads let her retake the reins, ”You… Forget it. This won’t happen again, will it? Will you be more careful?” It sounded like a legitimate question even as from Evil Eye’s perspective, Shatterscape's speech and cadence changed at the drop of a hat.

"I wonder," Evil Eye replied enigmatically as she stroked Shuuko's face. "If I only had a mirror, Shuuko," she sighed sweetly. "Mirror, mirror... no longer on the wall, but accompanying this evil witch on the grandest journey of all. Ever vigilant, watching the all-watcher." Her smile widened. "You will keep those bright, sweet eyes on me, won't you? If you do, I'll be so very, very careful."

”And here I’d hoped you’d take the fool’s promise," replied Hotaru with an impish smile of her own as she leaned into Evil Eye’s hand, taking solace in the other magical girl’s presence. The only thing she refused to do was to close her eyes and more because of the commotion still going on in the background rather than the fact she was alone with her friend; caution always served well.

Finally, Evil Eye let go of her partner's face, and allowed a moment to pass in silence. "Well, I was going to beg you sweetly for something fried in oil and dyed in red number forty, but if it pleases you, I'll settle for something a little less exciting. A little more 'careful' —but I'm not eating that." Evil Eye picked up a cane that looked like it might've belonged to someone from Rei's inner circle, and gestured to a plate of gross hospital food that she had banished to the corner of the room to contemplate the weight of its creator's sins. Some yellowish objects cut into perfect squares appeared as if they could, at some point, have been considered something approximating a plate of macaroni and cheese. Rather than eating it, Kiyo had cut them up and assembled them into a pyramid shape as a monument to her displeasure. "Now you see, Shuuko, why I was so in dire need of rescue. It almost makes me miss Oros's cooking. Almost." She grinned. "I have no ride, so we're going wherever you want today. My treat. ...Ah, but I'm broke too. ...Shit." She clicked her tongue.

”I can’t see how hospital food’s something I have to save you from,” Hotaru continued as she walked towards what was left of the door. ”And if I’m choosing and paying tonight… it’s ramen time. Yours’ll be from hell, mine will be from heaven.” a light laugh escaped Hotaru’s lips as she reached a hand for Evil Eye to take. "Ramen?! I know I've been bad, but you could still spoil me just a little..." she pouted sarcastically as she floated up and out of her hospital bed. ”C’mon, it isn’t that far. And until then, please tell me what happened? You sounded...” A pause. Hotaru swallowed a fact she didn’t want to hear. ”… really bad. Are you sure you’re all right? I hope I didn’t squeeze you too hard.”

Flight wasn't something all magical girls had, but Evil Eye wasn't most magical girls. She wasn't particularly strong, and even her flying was more like that of a blimp than an airplane—faster than ground-based traffic speed limits in most places, but not by much. She didn't intend to fly, though; she just took Shuuko's hand and let the girl pull her along like a kite. "The crash happened while I was untransformed, so my real body is just fine. The cane makes me look like I have a little class, though, don't you think?" She lifted it up next to her head as if to tip an imaginary hat. Then, she looked up at the ceiling soberly. "...Several broken ribs and an ankle. Walking sucks, and it hurts when I breathe too deep, which happens when I walk. Got painkillers though. I'll make a full recovery, but it may take some time. It'll only be a problem when I have to be 'Kiyo.' Which... is most of the time. I get to use the nurse's office whenever I want, though, so it can't be all bad."

Hotaru frowned as she gently pulled Evil Eye along, indeed looking out for her companion as though she were a kite, or perhaps a precious helium balloon acquired after a day of fun in the theme park. She set a sedate pace even as the hospital around her also quieted down, her rampage having ceased along with its effects and therefore, investigative teams were trying to figure out what just happened here to cause so much havoc. She even saw a member of them meticulously trying to piece together what happened to one of the stretchers, so in a fit of mischief, Hotaru knocked it over.

”I’d be more than happy to escort you, Evil Eye~” she spoke, sing-song as she watched the freaked out man trying to comprehend how the stretcher could have flipped over by itself. ”That’s what the club is for, isn’t it? We help out those in need.” One could practically see the rainbow star fly from Hotaru’s wink as she led her companion out the door and towards the ramen place she had in mind. "Is that what it's for?" Evil Eye pondered idly, tapping her chin. Then she shrugged, as if she'd lost interest.

”But seriously, what happened? Your last fight wasn’t this bad.” Looking up at Evil Eye as she floated beside and slightly behind her, Hotaru let concern creep into her voice as well as her eyes.

"I was ambushed, or perhaps both of us were driving distracted and it was just an accident? It was a magical girl. Light or dark, I'm not sure. She grabbed me, and we both crashed. I blacked out and woke up in the hospital. Maybe she did, too, or maybe she took me there. I didn't stick around to find out the details."

There was a pause. Something seemed... missing, somehow. Evil Eye grinned conspiratorially. "Oh, I didn't wake up at this hospital. A different one, in the one place dark magical girls should never go to," she employed with dramatic flair. Then she paused, her smile vanishing. "You know, it was a disappointingly mundane hospital. They didn't even perform an exorcism or anything. Just gave me drugs and shooed me out the door, like gentlemen. If it were me, I'd have brought that girl to my secret laboratory and... that's if I had one, mind you. Project for another day—when I'm not broke." She smiled and continued the story, never getting back to the point about what she had in mind for her secret lab experiment.

That was how Evil Eye told stories: like a distracted driver, pointing out every other shop on the way to their destination. She'd build drama, only to go off on a rabbit trail about something mundane, like something funny she'd said to a girl on an elevator, but then casually drop a bombshell as if she were talking about the weather. It was as if she relished keeping a captive audience on their toes, and getting reactions. It was ineffective storytelling by any objective metric, especially when Evil Eye could just show Shuuko what happened—but the girls were having fun, so it didn't matter. By the end, she'd told Shuuko about everything, including a close encounter with a girl on a train who called herself badass something-or-other. Of course, in Evil Eye's version of events, she'd correctly deduced that the other girl was also up to no good, and so they'd formed an informal truce—a monstrously powerful opponent, thoroughly outfoxed by the brilliant Evil Eye, with nothing but the simple magic of words.

Hotaru grinned back at Evil Eye with a glint of mischief before she shut up and listened to her story. At first, she merely blinked in surprise while her companion regaled her with the tale of what happened in the City of Light, but the more she heard, the more she had to purse her lips to prevent herself from commenting on the story. Of course, Evil Eye likely embellished it to her, but more than the embellishment, Hotaru knew she was leaving things out. Important things. Ember also confirmed it, so it was as good as truth.

Something squeezed Hotatu's chest even as they walked side by side. A certain, slow kind of pain blossomed like a vine from deep inside, every exaggeration and dismissal of what happened a thorn on the all-encompassing plant. Even though it only advanced at the speed of molasses, it nevertheless advanced, ensnaring Hotaru’s form muscle by muscle while the tale weaved, so much that she almost reached for her heart at one point.

Near the end of the story, Evil Eye spoke as if she were tired, as though she were remembering how exhausted her escape had left her by the time Rei picked her up. Evil Eye had a complicated relationship with Rei, but the rest of the Detention Club—with the one possible exception of Earthshaker—didn't know much beyond that, and she wouldn't talk about it.

”You… You’re lucky to have escaped alive,” she spoke, but it did nothing to alleviate the pressure of the vines, nor the strange feeling in her chest. ”It’s… I’m sorry I couldn’t be there with you. I’d have kicked the asses of those light girls!” No. Those were still not the words she needed to say to lift this feeling. What were they then? They did not come easy for certain.

"I'm aware of my good fortune, Shuuko. I'm aware." In a rare moment, Evil Eye closed her eyes. It was like a ritual of some kind, which meant she was about to cut the nonsense and say something serious. "Why do you think I suddenly hung up the phone without telling you where I was? Rei could have sent the whole Detention Club, but we would have all been defeated easily. Even a blind girl leading the blind like her could see that. No, I needed to escape on my own strength, vanishingly small though it may be—but make no mistake, I had no intention of sacrificing myself for anyone. I planned from the start to get out of there alive. The fact that I did is proof of my superior genius."

By the time Evil Eye was done telling her story, they'd arrived at Shuuko's destination. "I know I said I was broke, but we don't really have to pay, you know? We could just snipe what we want from the kitchen and go home." ”You’re right about not paying but… I like this place! It wouldn’t be the same if I didn’t pay for my meal,” she pointed straight at the ramen stand a couple of feet away.

It looked like it had seen far better days. Located in the middle of an alley that smelled half like death and half like junk, its neon sign seemed to have shorted out a long time ago. Its once sturdy wooden frame looked as though it were about to fall apart at the slightest poke and its chairs were half rotten, an impressive feat given their metal frames. The plastic seats in front were the only relatively intact thing, but even they were worn away by the ages. ”Now c’mon! Let’s get something in you, or you’ll wither away!

Evil Eye alighted on the ground, placing her weight on her good foot and her cane. After the girls ensured there were no eyes on them, the proud Evil Eye popped a pill and untransformed into Kiyo. She looked weak and tired, like she could indeed wither away, but there was also a kind of contented smile on her face. "Let's see it then, this special place with an unassuming appearance that you like so much."

Evil Eye's argument made too much sense, as the City of Light was filled to the brim with light magical girls. No dark girl could possibly survive there. Even two of them were too few to stand against what the city represented, however, Hotaru merely huffed that inconvenient fact away, waiting for her companion to change back into civilian form before she did, too. Even so, they were still out of place in this abandoned, run-down alleyway, but the warrior cared little for it as she yelled at the top of her lungs.

”Hey old man! Your favourite customer is back and she's brought company!” A flat, hollow sound escaped the ramen stand as she called out, almost as though someone had hit their head on a low ceiling. Low, threatening mutters followed along with a couple of steps as a man stuck his head out from between the curtains. He too, looked like he had seen better days, as his eyes looked like they went scuba diving at the bottom of the Marianna trench and dirt specked his face.

“Ah! Shuuko!” he greeted her, a smile making its way on his face. “Is it going to be the usual?”

”It is for me! My friend, though...” she said, indicating that Kiyo should speak up. ”Order whatever you want. This old man’s going to make it, isn’t that right?”

“Only within reason!” the chef responded with a fond smile on his face.

"I'll have whatever she's having, but don't make it too spicy," replied her partner with the cat's tongue. "If I start coughing, I might actually die," she joked as she shambled her way over to one of the seats. Also, if she cried, it would cause untold problems, but there was no need to say that. She observed the old man with an impenetrable gaze. He definitely sounded annoyed when Shuuko appeared, but he seemed nice enough. It would be fine, right?

“Two beef ramen bowls with extra eggs coming up,” noted the man as he ducked into his partition. Hotaru acknowledged him with an upbeat and louder than usual ‘yeah’ before she turned back towards Kiyo. "Oh shit, that sounds good right now," Kiyo whispered idly.

”How long until you recover? And how’s your bike doing?” she hadn’t seen it outside the hospital, so she feared the worst – but then again, maybe it would turn out for the best. It has been a while since they schemed to scurry away with something valuable and there was no way for them to afford a motorcycle of that quality. Not properly at least. But with some extra cleverness… Sylvia scoffed at the idea, but Ember grinned as she started going through the shops she knew.

Kiyo shrugged at Shuuko's question. "Who knows? Probably no more than about four months. Could be faster, 'cause, y'know. Young and made of fairy dust and all that." She kept her response vague in case the old man was eavesdropping. "The bike is trashed though. Maybe I'll invest in a wheelchair and you can push me around," she joked. Truthfully, there was probably a little merit to the lie she'd told to the girl who stopped her from falling down into the subway. The more she allowed her injuries to cause her to stagnate, the longer it would take to heal. Put another way, would remaining transformed as much as possible cause her healing to accelerate? Or was it the opposite? "This calls for an experiment," she declared suddenly. "On the fastest method to recovery." She steepled her fingers gleefully. Whenever she had opportunity to learn something new about magical girls, she'd suddenly get motivated like this.

”No.” Hotaru looked at Kiyo as though the latter had suggested growing seven heads between the two of them. ”You’re still trying to play that stupid game, aren’t you? Well, it isn’t working. I won’t see you hurt again, and I’m not going to see you do… whatever you want to. I’ll tie you up if I have to.” Her tone remained even, serious and tinged with just a little bit of anger.

”Your body isn't a game! I’d rather we do anything else.” Such as figuring out how to get another motorbike with the least amount of dark magical girl stuff they could get away with. That sounded much more acceptable than whatever Kiyo planned her experiment to be.

"Tie me up? Sure sounds like a game involving my body. What kind of game? Is it fun?" Kiyo inquired mischievously.

The old man announced his presence with a cough. "Beef ramen for two, extra eggs. Enjoy your, ah, evening, girls," he said uncertainly as he hobbled off.

"PFFFT." Kiyo covered her mouth as she broke into a snicker. "Puhaha, ha... ouu. Fuck, it hurts." She suppressed her laughter, eyes watering. She sniffed—but, she didn't cry. "Relax, alright? This one is elementary, and the whole De... science club benefits. We'll find out which is the fastest way for me to heal, and stick to doing that. I... thought you'd like that." She turned her attention to her food, slowly picking at it. Eating was probably not painless, either—or maybe she didn't actually have much of an appetite? "Unless this high priestess wants to nurse me back to health for as long as she can?" she accused playfully.

"You’re incorrigible.” Despite her exasperation, Hotaru could not help the smile pulling at her face, nor the slight, melodic lilt in her voice. "But it ain’t going to work. I know what you’re saying, but Kiyo, you’re…" and here, Hotaru went quiet as she shut her mouth. She did not even reach for her bowl of ramen as she looked her companion up and down. Teeth sunk into lips as the proper words failed to bubble to the surface for several seconds, which resulted in Ember embracing her inside the confines of their shared thoughts.

”You don’t have to rush, Hotaru. I’m sure you’ll be able to find the words you are looking for eventually. Even if you don’t, I will be here to help you all the way.

”It’s so frustrating!” Hotaru almost punched the ramen stand, only a hair’s restraint standing between her and ill-considered violence. ”I don’t even know what it is…!” On the outside, the silence dragged on.

Kiyo sighed. "You're not the only one who can't find the right words, Shuuko." She laid her chopsticks into the side of the bowl. "Scientific progress demands sacrifice. A grievous injury to my body and the loss of my bike may seem an unacceptable price, but it's less than what I paid to meet you and the other club girls. That's why, I won't weep over the sins that brought me this far. You shouldn't either. There may or may not be light at the end of the tunnel, but standing still or turning back halfway is a death sentence when there's a train coming." The train was, of course, Ashbringer, but Hotaru wouldn't realize that until much later that night, after giving it some deeper thought.

”Scientific progress my left buttcheek! We’re talking about you here, Kiyo!” The sentence burst out of Hotaru without warning, the words uncontrolled and free. ”You aren’t some… experiment or something! What the hell gave you that idea?” Squeeze. Something started to gather inside Hotaru’s body, feeling as if someone had put her in a vice, then started to apply pressure all over her skin. She did not like it. Neither did Sylvia or Ember.

”She shouldn’t put herself in danger!" Sylvia all but shouted at the top of her lungs inside their skull. ”It’s bad enough I couldn’t protect her properly, but now…"

”Yeah. She shouldn’t be thinking like that, girls. ‘Ru, could you please find out why she is trying to do… whatever she’s trying to do?

”And what the hell do you even want to do? Why do you think it’s so important to find this out? I can’t keep breaking your bones or something to see what happens.” Hotaru continued her outburst seamlessly despite the small pause, reaching out to Kiyo. She lay a hand on the other girl’s uninjured shoulder, resting it there as concern wavered in her eyes.

Kiyo winced. She looked like she was in pain, and a little annoyed. "Why? Should I tell you my ambitions when you seem so keen on getting in my way?" she asked pointedly. "Besides, my burdens are not some practical problem that can be solved by just telling someone. On the contrary, it's more like Roko's Basilisk." She seemed like she had more on her mind, but chose not to pursue the thought any further. "Forget it. In the short term, my goal was to find a way to solve our current problem, and I've succeeded. All that remains is to put proven theory into practice—and, next club meeting, I'll divulge my plans on how we can accomplish that. We will commence Operation Granfalloon together."

A long pause followed that declaration. Hotaru stared at her companion without touching her meal, drawing the moment out before she lifted her left hand to lay it on Kiyo’s shoulder. Considerable weight hid behind the touch: a lesson imparted or perhaps an experience won through sheer grit. Perseverance. The act of passing on knowledge between mother and daughter, a sacred ritual that could not be used for any other purpose.

She moved with the speed of lightning to apply one of her fabled Nuclear Forehead Flicks, pulling on some of her magical strength to convey her feelings on whatever Kiyo just said, then withdrew the arm before the other girl could exact any form of revenge. Kiyo's head flew back, but she just managed to stay in her chair. She closed her eyes, something she hardly ever did, while she reeled. "AHH!! What the hell, Shuuko?! If I wasn't all juiced up on pills, that would've really hurt!"

”I don’t understand a single word you’re saying. Roko’s Basilisk, problems you’ve already solved, Operation Granfalloon… What’s that supposed to mean? I know you aren’t one for directness, but come on!” Hotaru narrowed her eyes, neither her gaze, nor her face smiling at all. ”Give me something to work with or I’ll just get you a motorbike and call it a day.”

”She is not making sense to me either.” Ember shrugged in their shared mental space. ”And there’s no way I’m letting children get hurt again. Not if I can help it.” Sylvia nodded in support of the notion, her teeth grit.

”I swear, if she’s thinking of something stupid again…”

Kiyo sat quiet for a moment, waiting until she stopped seeing stars. Soon enough, though, she was giggling again, like nothing had happened. "Heh. 'Give me what I want, or I'll give you something you want and be done with it.' You're so demanding~" She smiled, but Shuuko was not. Seeing her so stubborn seemed to annoy her, but she also seemed to come to her senses and relent a little.

"Look, it's like this... While this high priestess is so focused on protecting my body, the observer of the heavens wishes to protect something... a bit more ethereal." She turned her attention back to her food. "You'll have to figure out what that is on your own. If I told you, you'd either tell me I'm stupid for worrying about it, or get dragged into my delusions. Hence, Roko's Basilisk. Once its eye hits you, your fate is sealed. It's an info hazard. You're better off not knowing. You knowing about it doesn't make my burden easier to carry; it just burdens you too." She hid her pouting face behind the excuse of having egg in her mouth. "No spoilers on Operation Granfalloon. We get stronger by making others do the work for us. That's the gist. Wittew Kwiyo-chwan won't even break a sweat. Happy now?" She averted her eyes toward the direction they'd come from, her voice a little sassy.

”This ‘high priestess’”, the thick mockery along with the quotation marks in Hotaru’s voice could only be missed by the deaf or the willingly ignorant, “can’t help unless you talk.” A sigh. Hotaru shook her shoulders as though she were trying to get the rain off herself. Like Kiyo, she turned towards her steaming ramen, reaching for the chopsticks and snapping them in half. She asked for another pair that she stabbed into her dish with the viciousness of a crocodile ripping her prey apart.

”Hotaru…” warned Sylvia with a gentle voice, but the other girl just ignored her, bulling through the problem.

”I get it if you can’t say it, but this isn’t funny. First you want me to start breaking your bones, and now you’re not even hinting at what you’re planning? And how do you plan on getting stronger without any effort on your part anyways? My strength doesn’t come from sitting at a ramen stand and not lifting my pretty ass, you know!” She slapped her butt for emphasis with a loud smack, leaving behind a red mark.

”You'll scare Kiyo, Hotaru. I'm sure she has her reasons for not explaining...”

”Then she can damn well explain those.”

Kiyo covered her mouth, trying to hold back a snicker that was sure to cause absolute agony. She wasn't looking at Shuuko, but she could hear the slap, and the mental image she conjured was even funnier than the real thing. "Shuuko, how the fuck did you get the idea that I want you to break my bones? My bones are already broken, I'm not breaking any more," she assured her softly, wheezing. ”You’re… not? Eyes wide, mouth opening, Hotaru looked as though she had just been told something revolutionary, idiotic, completely out of the left field or all three. "Did you miss something I said? Am I boring you?" Kiyo smiled as though it didn't matter. Again, though, she paused, her smile vanishing when Shuuko didn't return it.

She made that expression like she was in pain, again. "Do you think me so cruel, Shuuko? That I would have fun breaking myself just to see your reaction? Have I... wounded you so deeply that you don't trust me?" Tears of darkness welled up in Kiyo's eyes, but still, she did not allow herself to cry. "Ah... The price of my scientific progress just... went up. It was too high. It's completely unacceptable." She sniffed. "Shuuko, what I want to protect... feels far away, when you won't smile at me. Of course my well-being isn't a joke. I just wanted something that hurt you to be something you could laugh at, instead. I just want you to smile. Your worrying... hurts."

'If we can't even pretend to be happy, then what was it all for? Why put everything on the line?' That's what my heart is saying. Such a simple feeling, even a child could understand it. So, not having the right words is all a sham, I guess...

”But, Kiyo… argh! I’ve been such an asshole then!” This time, she let her chopsticks drop into her ramen before she clenched her fist. Then she gave herself a Nuclear Forehead Flick, leaving behind an angry red mark just about where she had given Kiyo one. ”Sorry… Really. It’s just… how else do you test for healing? That’s why I thought you were going to hurt yourself.” Meeting Kiyo’s eyes head on, Hotaru laid her hand on her fellow magical girl’s forehead, then tried to wipe away the hurt she had dealt just a moment prior. She let it linger as though it would undo what could not be undone, hoping that her palm was cool enough to give at least a bit of relief.

While Shuuko rubbed Kiyo's forehead, Kiyo looked around, ensuring there were no eavesdroppers. She did this with her Mogall as much as with her own eyes. "Transformation. I wondered if it had any positive effect on how quickly we could heal, or if our human bodies are essentially frozen in time while not in use. Since healing will take months, I can try spending most of my time in one body for a bit, then switch out until I figure out what's faster, or if it makes any difference. If there's no clear winner, then the best thing to do would just be to use my transformation as much as possible, since I won't be in pain. I'd hope for that result. I've got two-to-one odds, after all." She smiled a little.

”Uhh… well… err… This high priestess… also considers her observer of the heavens to be important. I wouldn’t get mad at you for getting hurt if I didn’t.” Stating the obvious, Hotaru turned back to her ramen with blitzing speed, as though she wanted to hide something. And come to think of it, just what had been the look in her eyes when she looked at Kiyo? There had been a soft quality to it, the normally inquisitive gaze of the high priestess far too kind.

Kiyo stood up. "No, I'm the asshole, Shuuko. For you to think I would treat myself as less than a guinea pig, I must have done something to erode your faith in me. If not all at once, then in a hundred little ways, each one by itself not worth fighting over, but piling up all the same. ...I'm sorry." She leaned on Shuuko, a hand on her left shoulder and Kiyo's chin on her right. In her current state, it was probably the closest she could comfortably get to giving Shuuko a hug.

'Sorry?' When was the last time Kiyo apologized properly? She was always telling people "don't be mad" or "forgive me." "Thanks for the meal, Shuuko. It was good. But now, I want to rest. Would you please take me home?" So now, there was a 'please and thank you,' too? It was unlike her, but if it meant she was reflecting on her actions properly, maybe it didn't matter. After all, Kiyo was coming home, and their shared apartment hadn't felt like home in a while, not without Evil Eye's nefarious giggling coming from the other room late into the night.

”...Yeah. Still. Sorry again.” Hotaru carefully reached around Kiyo, pulling her closer with great care. Neither her grip, nor her pull were strong and if the other magical girl resisted just a little bit, she would stop. It was just that it felt nice to embrace Kiyo like this, the warmth slowly spreading through Hotaru’s body along with her faster-than-usual heartbeat. Maybe it was also stronger? She could hardly tell with the two of their bodies pressed so close together.

”I will take you home, sure.” A gentle squeeze. ”Did that hurt? I’m sorry, I’m not sure how… well… you know.” She shook her head before a grin took over it. Kiyo winced, but Shuuko was so close to her that there was no way for her to see it. "It doesn't hurt," she lied. The truth was that it didn't hurt enough for her to forsake the hand extended to her by the high priestess. The hug certainly didn't hurt as much as it did when Shuuko looked at her coldly and refused to smile. ”Anyways. It’s all water under the bridge, yes? I jumped to conclusions and you’re being a mad scientist like usual. Too bad you’re way too adorable.” Hotaru averted her eyes from Kiyo as she spoke, using her free hand to destroy whatever was left of her meal between two words, then slapping some cash onto the counter.

Ai-chan, are you unaware of how adorable you are? That's kinda dicey, y'know?

Adorable... Kiyo's free hand idly reached up to the bridge of her nose, to adjust a pair of glasses that hadn't been there since the day she became a magical girl—an ingrained nervous habit she still engaged in when she wasn't sure what to say or do. It barely concealed a light blush, until it subsided. Shuuko loosened their embrace a little, just so she could turn towards her companion and look her in the eyes with a shit-eating grin on her face. ”Princess carry?”

"I'm incorrigible?" she replied, her eyes absent as she checked their surroundings with Mogall. Confirming that the coast was clear, she transformed—not to make herself lighter or easier to carry, or because Shuuko might accidentally hurt her—but because Evil Eye was almost always smiling, so that stupid look on her face was just a bit more permissible. "Oh, fine," she consented, putting up just a little fuss with her words, but moving into position to be carried all the same. She looked up, but the night sky wasn't there. It was still the afternoon, but still, she wanted to sleep.

”I guess it’s good night, my princess.” One would think that a dark magical girl used to getting her way by the sweep of her gauntlets or the sheer, mauling power of the massive claws attached to it, would have trouble carrying an oh-so-fragile maiden without menacing her. They would be wrong, as Hotaru transformed—knowing that Evil Eye had already looked around—and immediately dismissed her Devil Arms before she gingerly took Kiyo into a princess carry. Her passenger felt only a slight jolt as she was lifted with great care, arms positioning themselves into a most comfortable place. Then Hotaru placed a kiss onto Kiyo’s forehead with the same, wide grin on her face. Evil Eye blinked.

And then, Shatterscape blasted off into the skies with a tremendous explosion beneath her feet. The ground shattered into thousands of pieces, all of which miraculously missed the ramen stand all the while presenting a mystery for the repair crews or investigators to solve later. She did not care. She merely propelled herself, channeling magic into her body as she leapt from rooftop to rooftop, cutting through Hibusa Town. ”Much better than the taxi, right?” Riotous laughter followed that, more because of the feeling of pseudo-flight than the non-joke Hotaru made. ”You look like you're still thinking hard though...” She followed up as she glanced down at Evil Eye in her arms.

"I'm always thinking hard," Evil Eye replied dismissively as their eyes met.

If I used my magic right now, I could make you understand. Would that be immoral? Or is refusing to do so the cowardly choice?

I know that, as a source of warmth and comfort, I'm inadequate. I'm a pretty poor older sister.

But I can at least refrain from burdening you with life's tough questions, so you're not tempted by the abyss.

So, why do I still feel like I've lost something important..?

Kurai Majokko: Tsundere Gekido

"Oh boy oh boy, we finally get to interact together! But haven’t we done this before?”

"Haah?! Look over here, and I’ll set that faulty memory of yours straight. Maybe a few other things too."

Even dark magical girls couldn’t escape book reports.

Normally Suki would find an excuse to skip such things, but her grades were falling kind of low, and it would be unfortunate if she couldn’t be part of the club because she dropped out. It didn’t help that the book in question was effectively a history lesson. History did not interest Suki. The past did not interest Suki. There was very little to gain by reading inaccurate accounts of what had already happened. If she was going to read about the past, then they could at least spice it up by adding something cool like vampires or magical princesses.

Suki didn’t have a computer at her shared home, so she was using the Detention club’s own computer to write her report. But she was still in the process of motivating herself, so not much actual writing had been done yet. She had watched several videos, made a few posts on social media platforms, and watched a virtual content creator talk about virtual content creators. Occasionally she would close a tab and stare at the word processor that held the entirety of her progress, which was getting the program open to a blank page. Her eyes started to glaze over when she thought about what it would take to hit that two-thousand word benchmark for a passing grade. Kiyo must have quite a bit of work piled up too, she reassured herself. She had missed quite a few classes, and couldn’t have had a great record with the school either. She wondered if she was making an effort to get caught up.

As if to answer Suki's pondering, there was a knock. Then, there was another. Then, another. It wasn't the door, but something out in the hall.

"Thanks, Shuuko. No, I got it. Thanks."

A familiar voice came muffled through the door—but also, it wasn't familiar. Kiyo was not a "please and thank you" kind of girl, nor was she accustomed to speaking softly. Soon, though, the door opened, and sure enough, it was Kiyo. "Oi, are you still playing games on that thing? Some of us take our education seriously, you kn—" Kiyo flicked on the light. "Oh." She blinked. Apparently, she had been expecting someone else. "Good day, Jaws." Suki just sat there, looking over her shoulder at the newly arrived. Kiyo stepped the rest of the way through the door, and it became apparent what the knocking sound was. Her foot was bound up in a cast, and she was walking with a cane, an overstuffed book bag likely full of overdue assignments hanging from her shoulder. She eagerly relieved herself of her burden, unceremoniously throwing it onto the nearest cheap folding table. It bent slightly on impact. She walked slowly closer to Suki, eyeing the blank word processor inquisitively. "Riveting stuff so far. I daresay the words are flying off the page. Wonder when they'll come back?" she remarked, deadpan. It was a typical "Kiyo comment," not to be taken too seriously.

"Probably once inspiration strikes.” Suki didn’t know where she stood with Evil Eye. It was almost like they were two characters in a show that finally had some screen time together, but there was no script and Suki and Kiyo were expected to improv. Once upon a time she had given Kiyo her own nickname, but that had been lost to time. All she could remember was “Eyeball,” which worked a lot better for Evil Eye than it did Kiyo. Her gaze returned to the empty screen. Suki had tried to start several times, but after watching a video or two it didn’t look right and she ended up deleting it. Now under Kiyo’s gaze, she couldn’t bring herself to type a single word. Just because Kiyo was in a good mood now didn’t mean it was going to stay that way. "I uh, wasn’t sure if you were coming back. But with Handy’s return, I guess it was just a matter of time, heh!”

"There were whispers that I wasn't coming back, huh? Interesting," Kiyo remarked, in a manner that instantly reminded herself of Rei and caused her lip to curl with a hint of annoyance. She turned her head back to look at her pile of work, beads of sweat creeping down her cheek. "...You can have the computer. I'm just going to read, for now." She slowly made her way over to the table, sat down and began flexing the hand that'd been holding the crutch and massaging it a little as she spoke. "In the end, I got what I wanted out of my ill-fated solo adventure, but at an unacceptable cost. It's a pyrrhic victory."

"I uh, I see.” Suki said, having absolutely no clarity to interpret Kiyo’s cryptic statement. She believed that Kiyo was a loose cannon, someone wholly unpredictable aside from their tendency towards chaos. It wouldn’t have surprised her if she left forever, nor was it surprising to see she had returned. Even Nyx, who confounded Suki, felt easier to understand than the mysterious, all-seeing, Kiyo.

She had prepared to type again, this time getting out a good sentence or two before noticing Kiyo’s reflection in the monitor. It was hard to stay focused with someone else in the room. In addition to Kiyo being unpredictable, she was kind of a hottie today. Not a full on super cutie, which was Suki’s favorite type. Hotties were generally aware of how attractive they were, and tended to flaunt it a bit. Cuties were more oblivious to their beauty, with super cuties being the very pinnacle of purity and beauty. Below the hotties were the baddies, who fully leaned into their feminine wiles and sported an air of danger and worldly awareness. Normally Suki would classify Kiyo as a baddie, but seeing her innocently read while dressed to the nines…

When was the last time she had seen her like this?

…

…

…

Suki was new to Hibusa Town, but she knew a few things about the place. First and foremost, she knew Penny would never bring her band of light girls to look for her here. That was why she had decided to come to this town to begin with, but that was because Hibusa town had an infamous dark magical girl team. Apparently their leader had been a real menace in the City of Light and decided to move her base of operations here. While they weren’t actively hunting Suki like Penny was, there was no guarantee that they would be friendly either.

After an unsuccessful night of dumpster diving, she decided to try going to the cafeteria to get something to eat. It shouldn’t be too hard to sneak in as a student. She didn’t have a uniform, but that hadn’t stopped her from getting served in other schools. A few students looked at her funny, but no one had confronted her yet. She avoided making eye contact with everyone while going to the counter as quickly as she could.

Just then, though, something red and black caught the corner of Suki's eye. Then, it caught her attention. An older girl who could've only been a senior was eating alone at a table by a window. Her black hair had that coveted sheen to it, like the feathers of a raven or the silky coat of a proud black cat. It reflected the light from the window just so, in that way where anyone who saw it would know that it would be just as soft and warm and—yes, taboo to touch. The inside of her hair was highlighted red, somewhat reminiscent of the hood of a cobra. It added notes of danger and a hint of defiance. Here was a girl who was above the dress code, but also demanded to be taken seriously. Above all, it ought to have warned not to get closer.

Most striking of all were her eyes. They were mesmerizing, in a way that, if she wasn't a magical girl, was magical nonetheless. They alone elevated her look from the level of an average hottie to a true foreign beauty—for though her hair was black, the eyes did not lie. Perhaps her mother was Japanese, and her father was a foreign businessman. Naturally, he would never be home, and this femme fatale look was born of rebelliousness. Was that why she kept others at arm's length? Was she a lonely soul, resigned to her fate to graduate without even a single friend?

She ate her boxed lunch of shrimp scampi and charcuterie with the practiced elegance of someone who knew she would be watched. Her delicate fingers brought a small, ladylike bite to her lips, which slightly parted, just so, and exhaled, blowing the steam from the freshly reheated shrimp. Then, suddenly, her eyes flicked in Suki's direction, and eye contact was established. They were curious, evaluating, piercing—but, they weren't hostile. She was inviting her, right? After all, she hadn't merely glanced—she was practically staring, now.

One of the cafeteria staff cleared his throat politely. Before she knew it, Suki was next in line.

But nothing he did could stop Suki from staring back at the girl a second longer. She rolled her eyes towards the man behind the counter, giving him a sideways glance. Like she had suspected, he was unconcerned with the dress code and just wanted to end his shift as soon as possible. She slid her money across the counter and he departed without a word. Her eyes returned to the girl she couldn’t quite classify.

Suki wasn’t totally oblivious. She knew she was ugly, and she wasn’t dressed to impress anyone. She had slept in her clothes for several days and didn’t have a chance to iron them. She had even turned her underwear inside out to get a few more days out of them, but girls like that usually had exotic taste so, maybe?

A tray was placed beside Suki. When she turned to look at it she could see a few bowls filled with vegetables and one with chunks of chicken, all boiled. There was also an orange slice and a carton of milk. It wasn’t nearly as appetizing as that girl’s bento box, but hunger was the best spice. She took her tray, nodded at her server, and turned to approach.

Only to trip up on the leg of a chair.

She fumbled, falling flat on her stomach. But she managed to hold her tray the entire way down. The only thing she lost was the orange wedge, which flipped over the edge of the tray and landed on the floor. Suki took the wedge, knocked as much of the dust off of it as she could, and shoved it in her mouth before standing up. She didn’t look back.

If this were a typical high school sitcom, there might have been much laughter as a result of Suki's fall. Most of the girls had muted reactions, and a few gasped in surprise, but only one was stifling a giggle. She had just returned her attention to her meal when Suki sat down across from her. This seemed to surprise her, for some reason.

Once she was at the girl’s table, Suki placed her tray across from her and slid into place. She reached inside her mouth and peeled the orange in her mouth before setting the skin off to the side of her tray. The fruit was swallowed without a bite, and without fuss.

"I like your hair.”

The girl made a sound like she'd suppressed a gag at the smell—but then, she laughed. "...Really? That's all I get? You like my hair?" Her emphasis suggested she found the notion absurd, but her tone of voice betrayed amusement. Then, she looked away, flipping her hair in front of the side of her face that Suki could see. "Well. It's not the first thing most people notice," she allowed, enigmatically.

Of course, Suki had thought. Her eyes were her most prominent feature, but they could never be Suki’s favorite part of anyone. Eyes were the one thing that, regardless of how intimate the relationship, were not good to touch.

The girl rested her cheek on her hand and peered at Suki over the tips of her fingers, giving her a side-eye. "You're not from Hibusa Town, are you? If you were, you should know that this is, like... the VIP table," she lied with a mischievous smile that Suki couldn't see but might have been able to hear. "So, what are you gonna do when the Boss and her Posse show up?" She spoke of the posse as though it had nothing to do with her, and both of them were doing something taboo together by sitting at this table.

Suki’s mouth and eyes popped open. She looked over her shoulder to make sure Penny hadn’t found her, but her brow began to rest when she realized this hottie couldn’t have been referring to Penny, if she even knew who she was. It was also unlikely that she was referring to the Detention Club, as it made little sense for a magical girl to reveal themselves. It all made Suki laugh, which exposed the mouthful of food hiding behind her yellowed teeth. With another quick swallow, she slouched in her seat. "I’m not scared of some boss and her pussy!” She pulled a carton of pocky out of her vest. But when she pushed the lid open with her thumb, it revealed rows of cigarettes instead of chocolate treats. "Why, should I be?” she said before sliding one into her mouth.

"PFFFT." The girl covered her mouth and laughed, a bit like a hyena. "Nope! That's exactly it! That's the right attitude! A self-proclaimed 'boss' who doesn't lift a finger to help her subordinates is the lowest of the low, right?! People like that should just go bury themselves already."

She grinned at Suki, like she was really having fun. Another girl saw the change in the mood and thought to try sitting at the table, too, but Suki's new "friend" glared at her right away. "What." "U-Um, I just thought—" "You thought, what?! Something like, 'if Kuroki-san will talk to her, she'll definitely talk to me?' Is that it?"

"Ah, no, I just... I, um..!" She picked her tray back up, hands shaking. It was obvious that Kuroki-san had hit the nail so hard on the head that she was speechless. "I-I'm sorry..!" she mewled as she scurried away, fighting back tears. Suki’s eyes followed the girl as she departed the table, even as she lit her cigarette. That one didn’t look too bad either, but she had to focus on what was in front of her. The stakes might have been higher than she initially suspected.

Kuroki-san turned to face Suki more directly. "Well, that's me. Name's Kuroki-san. Kuro if you're in a hurry or can't be arsed, like me."

"I’m Suki!” the delinquent blurted out a little too quickly.

Kuro packed up her bento, but she didn't get up to leave, nor did she seem to be in a hurry. "I'd ask what's with that smelly getup, but I think we both know what's going on here. So, were you planning on settling in Hibusa Town?" She kept looking at her bento, idly pushing it around with a finger as though it were a ouija planchette.

"Maybe.” Suki didn’t feel like she had to be quite so guarded in front of this girl. She had an air of danger about her, but there had to be a reason she was still talking to her. "Do you like it?”

"It's quiet here; mostly boring, aside from the unexplained disappearances and UAPs. So, it's a pretty interesting town, if you're the right sort." She suddenly looked up from her bento, eyes wide and smiling. "Are you an interesting person?"

"I can be, if I’m with the right sort.”

"Nice parry!" she said in English, grinning. "Yeah. Yeah. I really like your attitude. You said your name was Suki? That's pretty funny." She didn't explain why, though. "I'm not convinced you actually have the guts to back that tough girl persona, but it doesn't matter. You got spunk in spades, like an entire sorority's worth of poor life choices. I'm here for it."

"Oh?”

She seemed pleased, somehow, but it was hard to tell if she was being complimenting or insulting sometimes. "If we're gonna keep talking, it'd be better not to have all these innocent ears around. We should meet again on the school grounds after hours. That's when the fun begins. I'll let you in on some of the inside baseball of Hibusa Town." She rolled up a sleeve and checked her watch, something that seemed increasingly old-fashioned when everyone had a cell phone. "I'm just about out of time here. Smell ya later." She flashed that enigmatic smile again and stood up, like the matter was settled.

With that whirlwind of a discussion(?) concluding, Suki could only watch as the girl slipped away from the table. She was no closer to finding out what she really wanted, or even if she wanted to give it to her, but Suki knew one thing for certain: she was being used.

Yes, Suki was quite familiar with these types. Lada, another foreign beauty, was the same way, all mysterious and confounding until it was time to cut ties. How many times had Suki treated her kindly only to be denied something as simple as a relationship? It was all so rote to her. “Kuro-san” and her must have shared the exact same playbook. Of course Suki wasn’t interesting. Anyone who looked like that would stay as far away from a smoking, stinking, ugly girl like herself. She had only taken a single puff out of her cigarette before twisting it out on the corner of the “VIP” table and walking away.

The silver lining was that she was going to be here once the school closed, and that was something that Suki could probably do something with. She had all afternoon to prepare.

But first.

This school had to have a shower room somewhere. And if she was lucky, maybe there would be a change of clothes too. Even if it was just a track suit someone forgot to take home, that would work.

…

…

…

It would have been inconvenient if this were an American school: there would be an overworked janitor to keep an eye on the place to clean up and perform repairs—but part of a Japanese school’s job was to make sure its students became good and submissive adults. Everything was cleaned by the students themselves before they clocked out. It was rare for anyone to hang around after the last bell, which was perfect for causing a bit of mischief.

During the school’s operating hours, Suki had been exploring. She discovered where all the points of interest were, including the showers which would be vital to getting rid of the smell of day-old garbage. The presence of cameras also tipped her off that there might be a security monitor room, which Suki was standing in now.

She was wearing a t-shirt and gym shorts she had found while raiding the locker room earlier. They didn’t fit perfectly, but they would do until she could wash her old outfit. There were only a few monitors, but Suki could flip between multiple cameras with the press of a button. She knew her mark would be coming to school after hours, but knew little else. The girl hadn’t given a specific time or place, so she could show up anywhere. Moreover, Suki wasn’t sure how to trap someone so enigmatic. She had wanted to lead the hottie to a specific part of the school, but figuring out how was tricky. She didn’t seem like the kind of person that would follow a trail of clothes into a shower stall. Nor did she seem like the type that would have a sudden heroic spark when they spotted a trail of blood leading into the cafeteria kitchen. What did seem like it would be appealing to Kuro's sensibilities was a note trail. Beside her extinguished cigarette on the VIP table was a note. It made some vague references to a surprise while instructing her to move to a new location she was being ‘beckoned’ to. This was a cryptic way of instructing her to go to the becoming cat statue on the other side of the school, which held another note written in the same fashion. Surely an indirect trail like this would make such a person curious, if nothing else.

Suki watched the monitors for any trace of her mark. She had raided a snack dispensary for a bag of sweetened pecans and was munching on those while she waited. Part of her wasn’t sure if she’d even show up, but the school wasn’t a bad place to stay for the night. The gym mats were comfortable enough to sleep on, but she would need to find a blanket. Her clothes weren’t exactly warm sleepwear.

♬

All was quiet in Hibusa High. Some might even quip that it was too quiet, in that cliche manner—but just before Suki could get bored, there was activity on the cafeteria monitor. Given the layout of the school, it seemed strange that there hadn't been any activity before that. Had she been hiding somewhere in the kitchen, off-camera?

"Where is that girl? I should have seen her by now. Have I lost my touch? Am I out of touch? Do I think too much?" she pondered aloud rhythmically, as if expecting an answer. She found a note, instead. "Hm. A surprise, she says. Now, what could that be?" Again, she aired her thoughts almost mockingly before turning to leave the cafeteria and enter the halls. "A cat statue. Is she saying she knows I like cats? Or could it be just a coincidence?" she pondered more quietly, more genuinely. Everything seemed to be working. Suki made a mental note that she liked cats and waited for her to get to the next note. Pretty soon it would be time to get into position.

The hottie walked down a predictable path to her destination, occasionally calling out for Suki. "Ooiii~ I'm taking time out of my super busy schedule to be here, you know?" she said with a smile on her lips. An obvious lie for her own amusement. Upon finding another note, she scowled in mild annoyance. "Search the school. Find her," she barked at... seemingly nobody. "Fool me once, shame on me. Fool me twice, not in a million years. Where are you, my little mouse? ...Not here... Not there... Ah, there you are!" She turned to face the camera suddenly, waving at it. Her eyes looked abnormal, even in poor quality CCTV. It almost seemed like her eyes were filled with... no, they were filled with white noise. Now, the whole screen was filling up with white noise!

When the feed returned to normal, she had disappeared.

Click.

The door to the security room suddenly opened. It would be impossible for it to be Kuro, unless—

It wasn't Kuro. Instead, it was a disembodied eyeball, about the size of a softball, clinging to the door handle with its little tendrils. It blinked non-threateningly at Suki. It looked like a miseria, but there being a miseria at an empty school was more than a little odd. Besides that, it seemed to have some small spark of sentience. It lowered its eyelid, appearing mildly scandalized, as if it had only just returned from its bathroom break and wanted to ask Suki what she was doing in its chair.

Between everything, Suki didn’t have time to do much of anything but look at the newly arrived. She curled her lips over her teeth and sighed. "I should have known she was a baddie.” And probably a dark magical girl, maybe even the “boss” that she had been talking about earlier. But there were more immediate things to address, like the eyeball. If it was a miseria, Suki would have had little issue transforming on the spot, but it seemed like it was something else. Her mind raced for possibilities that ranged from the baddie having dominion over miseria to the floating eyeball being a part of her somehow. It probably wasn’t smart to transform just yet. The baddie believed she was a cat hunting a mouse, and Suki intended to keep it that way for as long as possible.

She casually walked up to the eye, cigarette clenched between her fingers. After she took a good hard inhale, she blew smoke all over it. Suki's diversion worked like a charm. The eyeball flinched and watered in the face of all that smoke. She took the opportunity to charge out of the room. Suki was about to dart down another hallway when she spotted another one of those eyes, and was pretty sure she could hear the other one creeping up behind her. She backtracked only far enough to run down to the first floor. At least she was dressed for all this running! When she turned around, though, she found not two eyeballs chasing her, but three. The eye she'd blown smoke into was crying black tears, and the tears were turning into more of the creatures. They didn't seem dangerous, but they were creepy and intent on following her. Suki was faster, though, much faster, easily outrunning their flight.

Most might have used this as an opportunity to flee the school, but not Suki. She still had her bull headed determination and was compelled to continue with her plan. If the eyeball things were smart, one of them was probably still stationed in the surveillance room, but there were still places in the school that didn’t have cameras, such as the locker rooms adjoining the showers and gym.

As soon as Suki got inside, she immediately ran to the locker that she had forced open earlier and stepped inside. This locker was where all of the notes would have led eventually, and the baddie would likely drop by if she was trying to find her “mouse.” Maybe she’d send more of those eyeballs, but it didn’t matter, because when they came to investigate the locker, they wouldn’t find Suki. She pricked her finger on her stomach tattoo, and shoved the bloody needle through the side of her head. Suki Oyama had vanished, and Oros the Joyful had taken her place.

And so she waited to start her counter attack. Her eyes peered out of the locker, wary of any sudden sounds or movements.

The eyeballs did make a strangely ethereal noise as they flew through the air—a bit like the sound of air softly whistling while being sucked through a partially blocked straw, or water coming through a shower head. Oros watched them dart around the locker room, searching. Seeing so many peeping eyes in the girls' locker room was a bit—

Before Oros could properly finish the thought, they all gathered together and headed out the door, having cleared the room but not having checked the lockers. In fairness, there were a lot of lockers, and a lot of other places Oros could be, but it seemed odd that neither the big bad nor any of the minions had found the final note leading them to this specific locker.

Something was off, however, and after just a few seconds, Oros would realize what it was: that shower-head-like sound, it was still there. A shower was running. There was even a trail of clothes: a school uniform with tasteful but brazenly dress-code-violating personal touches that looked awfully familiar.

If Oros stopped to think about it, she could reason that this was a blatant set piece in Kuro's version of their game of "cat and mouse." The girl seemed to relish the feeling that she was the one in control of this situation. Such confidence suggested that she might be a higher-ranking member of the "club," and since having any other members on standby to act as backup would take away from her power fantasy, she was probably acting alone. Yes, this was a deduction she had the ability to make—but the most important piece of information in Oros’s mind right now was that there was a chance, however small, that Kuro might not be fully clothed.

She needed to move quickly.

Oros threw the door to the locker open and hopped onto her blood skates, which took her straight into the showers. All dawdling would do was give Kuro more opportunities to spot her magical girl form and work out what her abilities might be. A speedy, reckless approach might be what it took to catch Kuro off guard, and who knew, maybe she hadn’t transformed yet. As Oros drew closer she wondered what her magical girl form might be like. She probably wasn’t in a wedding dress, but maybe she’d be rocking some gothic lolita fashion, or maybe some shadow cultist robe decorated like it was covered in eyes, and her chest would have two giant eyes located in the center because they kind of look like-

A cat. There was a note attached to the shower door with a little cat face sticking its comically long tongue out.

It's bad manners to enter the pool without a shower.

The pool: that's where she would be waiting. That meant swimsuits and a picturesque outdoor scene under the pale moonlight! The doors were already ajar, and Oros could hear the girl humming a tune. She was definitely there, and definitely waiting. She was wearing a red and black one-piece and didn't appear to be transformed yet, but she was certainly using magic. She was hovering above the pool, trailing her toes across the surface of the water. Like the floating eyeballs, she drifted through the air slowly like a balloon, her movements just as wandering and chaotic. She made random patterns on the water's surface and even threw in a twirl or two, like an ice skater, except instead of flowing freely, her hair was wet and glistening and stuck to her skin and—

Oros had already showered earlier, she was going in!

The air cracked when Oros accelerated. There were a lot of questions she could have had, but with even less blood running through her head than usual, she couldn’t really think about any of them. Her blood was flooding to other extremities, including her nose, which propelled her across the water. Though this sanguine discharge wasn’t healthy. As her blood ran low, her blood skates turned into a blood raft. More and more tendrils laid themselves side by side until Suki was coasting through the water on a boat made of her blood. Its tendrils acted as oars that rowed through the water. As she neared Kuro, Oros spread her arms for an embrace, her eyes wide and her mouth hung open like a drooling idiot.

Whatever Kuro expected the new girl in town to do, it certainly wasn't that. She looked up from the pool and towards Oros, frozen in, well, some kind of emotion. It all happened so fast and she wasn't even sure what she was looking at. She tried to avoid her, but her flight was too slow. She transformed, which increased her speed, but it was already too late. Oros was on top of her, the two of them were on a boat, and her head was hanging over the edge of the water while Oros had buried hers in the baddie's chest upon impact. Kuro's eyes were so wide open that shock and rage looked the same. "Whuh—get off!!" she shouted, an instant before she noticed the girl's nosebleed. Maybe it was a poor choice of words.

Her transformed body wore a kimono with a disjointed black and white checker pattern and an indistinct red floral accent. It was a bit more red than it would've been otherwise on account of Oros. Her long hair was starting to spread out in the water, reminiscent of an image of Medusa, and her eyes were glowing a deep crimson. Every nerve in Oros's body was surely screaming at her to get up, but she didn't. "I said, get... hah... get..." she panted, the feeling of uncontrollable rage subsiding from her eyes as Oros's geas took effect. "H-Hey. Are you alright? Here," she said, pulling a handkerchief from her cleavage and wiping Oros's face with it. "Um, will it be fine? Do you need a nurse?"

"Nope!” Oros said, her chin nestled exactly where she wanted. The handkerchief smeared the blood over her upper lip, only to run into the boat below them. "I haven’t felt this good in a long time!” This was victory, Oros had told herself. From a cat chasing a mouse to a damsel beneath a vampire. As horrifying as Kuro had appeared on approach, her eyes were hard to look away from. Her head felt a little foggy, but she had just run half the length of the school. She’d allow herself to feel a little off. She pulled her knees up by Kuro’s hips and sat up, admiring what she had caught. She took her finger and traced down the center of her victim’s face. Her blood soaked finger left no streaks as it slid down the bridge of her baddie's nose and bounced along her lips. "Unless you’re a nurse? I wouldn’t mind if you wanted to take care of me! You look great right now but I know you could rock a nurse outfit. If I can do it, you can do it too!” Oros drank up more of her victim's eyes. She leaned forward, hanging her head over Kuro’s face. "But for now, why don’t you check my temperature.” Normally Oros would close her eyes when she leaned in for a kiss, but not this time.

It had been Oros who approached, but it would be Kuro who pulled her in and held her close. "Yeah..." she breathed, eyes deep and full of a dark and inescapable yearning, like a pair of bright full moons dyed in red. "I wanted to take care of you. I wanted... to be..."

The cool onee-sama. That's who she was, Oros realized, as they locked lips. She was the older and more experienced magical girl, and she'd seen a girl who had obviously fallen to darkness recently, run away from home and come to Hibusa Town for safety. She'd seen a bit of herself when her covetous eyes first met Suki's, and she knew she had to have her. This meticulously planned evening had been an initiation—a baptism into the darkness, the True Sisterhood.

...

This feeling... I know what it is. I crave her warmth desperately, wish it to envelop me like a winter cloak fresh from the dryer, mere moments before I freeze to death—but, I can't understand it. No one can awaken this desire in me. I know it must be magic, and in the twinkling of an eye, when I let her go, this feeling will cease to exist, but I... don't want to.

Oros’s eyelids twitched when she heard the "baddie's" thoughts. Or at least, that was what she supposed they were. Nothing like this had happened when she kissed other girls, magical or otherwise. Perhaps like her geas, the girl's voice would vanish from her mind the moment she looked away, but that wasn’t something she was going to entertain.

She rolled off of Kuro and pulled her across her lap. Around her was moonlight reflecting off a calm pool in a liminal space, but there was nowhere else she’d rather look than in her girl’s eyes. Maybe she belonged to a dark magical girl team or had other masters prior to now, but in this moment, she was absolutely her girl, and perhaps Oros was hers as well. She hugged her tight and kissed her again. She sighed, like she had just downed the last swallow of her drink, but there was a lot of Kuro left to take in.

"We shouldn’t have waited so long to do this!” She stroked Kuro’s hair as she spoke. "You must have been watching me with those eyes for a while. You might be more perverted than I am.” Oros chuckled, but she was able to suppress the pig-like snort that normally would have followed Suki’s laughter.

Kuro's lips pursed slightly, like she was pouting. "Perv—no, I'm... Evil Eye, the Detention Club's Supervisor. I look after the younger girls. I also do most of the talent scouting and recruitment. ...Rei is lazy and makes me and Earthshaker do all the work. Earthshaker's the right hand girl, the cool and aloof type. I wanted to be like that too—a reliable older sister type, but somehow, I... miscalculated." Her lip quivered and she spoke softly. "You're—what? A blood witch? That's so cool. Why couldn't you just play along with my brilliant schemes and let me be the cool one? I had a ritual planned and everything. You're so mean."

Oros smiled. Despite the girl's words, she didn't seem that angry, though it was always hard for anyone under Oros's influence to be angry at her. Though it was also unusual for her victims to speak so frankly, especially after two kisses. Most girls would have fainted by now, and Kuro was less horny and fawning and more... frustrated and needy, like she craved attention. It seemed as if she really did have some kind of resistance to being charmed. Regardless, seeing Kuro like this did not remind her of a baddie, so she must have misjudged. Perhaps she was a hottie after all.

"Yup! I’m a blood witch. Oros the Joyful, or Oros if you can’t be bothered.” Her hand settled into the small of her back. "But you were cool! The way you looked in the camera and were all like ‘found you!’ before disappearing behind a veil of static was awesome!”

Oros the Joyful. Not Eros, but Oros, Kuro noted. She wondered how joyful she could really be, but she filed that thought away for now, because Oros said she was cool, and that what she did was awesome. A light blush graced her cheeks and a proud, catlike grin curled her lips just slightly, like she wanted to tell Oros that she could praise her some more.

Oros leaned in for another kiss, but added "If you had told me you needed a virgin sacrifice, I’d have been a lot more willing,” before closing the gap herself this time. She tipped Kuro all the way back, to the point where some may have wondered if Oros was going to drop her overboard, but she pulled her back upright before releasing her. The blood witch wobbled side to side as her cheeks flushed red. It was like she was drunk. "I’m actually an only child, so I wouldn’t mind having a sister. Do you prefer ‘Oneesan’ or ‘Aneki’?” She asked while lifting Kuro’s chin, lining her up for a fourth kiss. "Onee-sama. Anything else is no good," Kuro demanded childishly. "Say it just once, and I'll forgive you."

But Oros would not get the chance to say it that night. It had been happening slowly for a while now, but suddenly, their love boat lost structural integrity, and they both plunged into the pool. The water felt cold, if only because their bodies had felt so warm. The shock of the cold pulled Kuro out of whatever trance she'd been in, but Oros still had her eyes locked on Kuro's as she sank towards the bottom.

"Suki! Snap out of it!" Kuro dove down and grabbed Oros's face, forcing her eyes shut, but she'd lost all sense of time and urgency. Kuro wasn't a lifeguard, but that was going to change. She dragged Oros down to the bottom, using it as a means to spring off towards the edge. She pulled Oros with her and threw her out of the pool to safety. "Breathe, Suki!" she said, checking the girl's pulse.

She froze.

The girl was just fine. Of course she was. Magical girls didn't have to worry about drowning. She facepalmed. "Oi. Seriously, snap out of it. I'm not giving you mouth-to-mouth." She gently slapped Oros's cheek a few times. It took a little self-control to not slap her harder.

Oros blinked and opened her eyes again. Normally her blood magic could hold its shape well, but she was perhaps focusing a bit too hard on Kuro towards the end there. She still wasn’t sure what had come over her. Even while she had been “drowning” she didn’t have an ounce of self preservation in her body, though it was only now when she wasn’t looking into Kuro’s eyes that she started to realize it. Maybe she hadn’t “won” after all. While Oros tried to piece together what had happened, the shame of what had just happened was starting to seep into Kuro’s consciousness, as the mortified look on her face suggested.

"You... forget this ever happened, understand? Or I'll make sure you're expelled before your first day of school is over." She looked like she wanted to cry, but she didn't, at least not before she walked away. "That... desire is beneath me. I hate it. It makes me feel disgusting."

Oros sat up and looked in the girl’s direction as she stomped off. "B-but I’m not even enrolled here!” This was all very confusing to Oros, and she wasn’t about to let the person with all the answers walk away from her. She pushed herself to her feet and marched after her. Before she could turn the corner into the locker room, though, she heard voices, and immediately stood off to the side of the doorway. It sounded like Kuro was talking with someone.

"For someone so laser-focused on her ambitions, you sure have wandering eyes."

"Ugh, shut up. Your timing is atrocious, you know that?"

"The Mogall got all starry-eyed. I couldn't help but be curious who could bewitch the club's ice queen. Is she that interesting?"

"Why don't you go find out? You're too late to file a complaint, though. I already gave her my stamp of approval. She's your problem now, whether you like her or not."

"Any particular reason why I wouldn't?"

"Like I said, go find out. I'm done here."

"Evil Eye?"

"What."

"It's a good surprise. I think it's interesting. So, thanks."

"Whatever. It wasn't supposed to be a surprise for you."

"Sure. Thanks, anyway." Before Suki could think about backing away from the wall, Rei stepped out of the doorway and turned to look at her, like she had always known she was there. "Oros." She smiled. "You arrived in town yesterday."

So this one was well informed too. Though the more Suki thought about it, some magical girls would probably be aware of a new face showing up in a small town like this. Though more concerning was the aura this girl had. Kuro had one mystery, but Rei exuded nothing but confidence and power. Even untransformed, Suki felt like she was just barely a match for the person in front of her, if not her inferior. "Who are you?”

"You know who I am." A mostly true statement. This was the big boss. The boss that was a middle aged highschool student. Boss Baby, as Suki would come to eventually call her. She had heard about Schrade in her travels, and was now standing in front of the dark magical girl super boss. "But most call me Rei."

"Where did, uh, Evil Eye go?”

"She’s resting." Her smile grew a bit wider. "Bit of a handful, that one. Glad you were able to take her off my hands for a night."

"Heh!” Oros couldn’t help but let her chest swell. She wasn’t used to being appreciated, and if this was what awaited her in the cult she had been signed up for, she was all for it. "Do you think I could talk to her tomorrow?”

"You can meet everyone tomorrow. Right now I’d like you to meet Earthshaker. She’s going to be your future partner."

"P-partner!?” This only got better. Oros vaguely remembered Kuro dropping Earthshaker’s name, but couldn’t remember what was said about her.

"We work in small teams. She would be a good fit for someone new to Hibusa town. She knows a lot, and would be willing to show you the ropes." She waved her hand. "Earthshaker’s waiting for us by the ‘VIP’ table."

"Alright! Lead the way!”

"Oros?"

"Yes?”

"That girl says some interesting things, but most of the time, there's no deeper meaning behind it besides having fun, so don’t spend too much time thinking seriously about it. If you're ever in trouble, though, you can rely on her. She’s not a thoughtless person."

"Alright…” During the long walk back, Oros started to feel a little nervous. Did they know she extinguished her cigarette directly on their table?

---

During her reminiscing, she managed to type a few paragraphs of her report while occasionally looking at Kiyo. She still wasn't quite sure where she and Kiyo stood, after all this time had passed. Did she like Suki, or did she think she was gross? Was an "interesting person" just someone who could be a useful tool for the Detention Club, or was there really a hidden yearning for a feeling of sisterhood with the Detention Club girls?

Kiyo placed her open book down, looking a little annoyed. "Suki, you're staring."

"I know.”

"Do you need something?"

Suki blinked a few times. "Nah I was just… thinking… about things.” She started to turn her head away, but was still looking at Kiyo. "But I think I got it, Onee-sama.” She turned back to the monitor and continued typing.

"You—!" Kiyo turned her head away, the same way she did when Suki had complimented her hair. "I told you to forget about it."

After hitting a few more keystrokes, Suki looked over her shoulder. "Forget about what?” After blinking innocently, she raised a finger to the corner of her lip. "I can’t remember what I used to call you. There was always Eyeball, but…” She hummed as a word floated around her mind, just out of reach. "Was it sister? It must have been sister.” She resumed typing.

Kiyo sighed, composed herself, and stood up. Slowly, she made her way across the room to Suki. "If it's between that and Eyeball, I'd rather you call me Aneki. Don't call me 'Onee-sama' in front of the others. It's cringe." She placed her hand on Suki, petting her head like a proper older sister. "As promised, though, I'll forgive you. You are absolved of your sins, Sister." She had that catlike grin again. "But don't kiss the Supervisor again. That's a pink slip," she said, deadpan.

Suki hummed as the pats continued. Of course, Suki would absolutely still call her Eyeball. It would be weird to call her the same thing in and out of her magical girl form. Rainbow worked for Tsubomi because of her dull personality, but “Eyeball” didn’t have anything to do with Kiyo. Nor did Evil Eye seem particularly sisterly, though perhaps now was not the time to bring it up. She also wasn’t going to ask what a pink slip was. It sounded like a tag on one of those websites Suki liked to browse late at night, but given Kiyo’s intense expression that probably wasn’t what she was referring to. "Well, if you don’t look at me with those eyes, I’ll try to contain myself, heh!”

Kiyo's smile widened. "I'll make no such promise. Restrain yourself, or you'll get pulled into the abyss with me," she replied enigmatically, returning her attention to her books. Without looking back, Suki raised her eyebrows before finishing up her report. Last time they fell into the abyss together, Kiyo had pulled her out. Was it too much to expect her to do so again?