Phoe

Return to Thellamie

"It is... possible, I suppose, to make the argument I have done enough for today."

Eclair slides to a halt on her skateboard and stomps the lip of it to flip it onto her back. She pinches the bridge of her nose for a moment and then rubs at the edges of her eyes before rushing forward and springing off the edge of a column, snatching the edge of a balcony with her fingertips and swinging up and over to the next level of the city.

Truly, there was no better place in all of Thellamie to practice the art of parkour than Vespergift. Even the training course at the Manor paled in comparison. If she could be said to have any particular talent for the art that the typical maid-knight could not lay claim to, then it stemmed from growing up here. She runs up a second wall and flips up onto and then off of a windowsill that's nearer to a tower than it ought to be, giving her a convenient pair of brace points to wall kick between and climb her way up in decent time.

"I prefer the, nnngh my head, argument that my strength is better preserved for the final conflict. I am certain this is not finished. But while there are two dragons fighting inside of the city there is very little I can accomplish on the ground. What is happening here, and why? Crevas was one thing, but what could have set off such a specific and unusual chain here? I do not understand."

Up she climbs, higher and higher. Beyond the streets and into the towers. To be frank the idea of knowing a place to be alone in Vespergift is absurd to the point of parody, but in a moment like this where so many of its people were frantically moving for the gates at the very least there were principles that could be followed. Up, not down. Use the ruined towers for climbing, but make for the ones that have remained upright - these are less suitable for foot traffic so to reach a position where another's footsteps were unlikely it simply made sense to make for the heights that were most easily cleared out from the inside.

Sitting on a rooftop also doubled as a strategic advantage. Something nearer to the center of the city insomuch as it was possible to find a spire there, where her vantage could double as a staging ground if she saw the dragon fight turn suddenly in such a way that it might threaten the viability of the city for return. Perhaps it was the sake talking, but Eclair couldn't find it in herself to blame Vespergift for being what it was. The North simply wasn't meant to only have a single city. It could stand even less to have none at all.

In any event it is happenstance and not planning that sees Eclair Espoir pass across the window of her old orphanage. What they were using it for now she neither knew nor cared, though she couldn't help but hover for a moment to peer inside. There was no reason to do so, nothing whatsoever to be gained from knowing. But even so, she looks. And if it really was empty, there wouldn't be a better perch in the entire city to catch her breath and read her missives in whatever fragmentary moments this disaster had to offer her.

Breathless Dead

Pain. Unfathomable pain.

Bella's spine has been replaced by a bolt of lightning. Her bones and nerves are nothing but the root system of a burning tree. Every part of her exists only to communicate the idea of pain. Her lungs expand and contract without knowing the kiss of air, they simply relieve the sensation of constantly burning by replacing the fire with dozens of spear tips, instead. Her arms tremble and push without lifting her out of the dented crater in the ground she writhes inside of, just to add a slimy impression of weakness and a crawling sort of itch into the entire miserable cocktail.

When she finally does climb to her feet again, her shoulders are slumping. Her mutilated hand is twisted around its own claws as if her arm ended in a single jagged dagger rather than anything belonging to a person, or even an animal. Wet, disgusting laughter trickles from between her teeth. Fine then. Fine. Maybe she was out of shape. It should not have taken to this point to recover from Mosaic's stunt with the mountain. But she could feel it, the fatigue and the poorly stitched together muscles now freshly fraying against these new pressures, and she knows that it's a problem.

"Ves..." she looks up at her sister in spite of the danger of the fight and this trap-filled arena, "I'm pretty fucking sure there's a point where getting smarter stops meaning anything useful. And I think you crossed that line a while ago."

Bella wipes her mouth on the back of her ruined hand and watches this new Diodekoi take her stance again. For so long, ever since she'd learned she was an assassin, she'd longed to meet another one like her. Now that there's one right in front of her, she cannot for anything figure out why it felt so fucking important. There was nothing to learn from this speechless wall of bone. She couldn't be a teacher and she couldn't be taught. What was the point? To know? To see? To witness with her own eyes the harm she might have-- did cause on Sahar? Small consolation that everyone she killed was technically already dead at the time. But try asking them how they felt about it, why not?

"Just relax up there. Please. I have this. I can do this. I can do this!"

She dips low to the ground, prime pouncing position. Her eyes ache from how much she's straining them, but she doesn't dare blink. She can't find them anywhere on the unicorn. The auspex has always shown the ability to point out the weak spots, the connecting threads of the gods that she can cut to break apart anything that has ever been made. But this Diodekoi armor has no such markings. None at all. And the only possible explanation for that is...

Bella hisses. The claws on her remaining good hand snatch at the air and she lunges at supersonic speeds; the 'teleportation' technique she stole from XIII. Throwing her body into the blow without thought for useless things like further traps in the room, or counterattacks, or even landing, she thrusts with her injured hand - which has now grown over completely into deadly sharp exoskeleton.

The only explanation is that she cannot kill this thing.

Sunshards: Chaos Sequence

Katherine blinks. She does not otherwise reply. After a moment she blinks again, this time rapidly.

She hangs her head.

"Dang it," she murmurs, "Dang it."

She turns and makes a motion to restrain Berserker. Her Servant simply stands in place with her arms planted on the cross guard of her sword. The two stare at each other for a moment. Katherine shrugs.

"Um. No. No thank you, I mean, I'm not really hungry. But we can, y'know, talk for a bit. If that'd make you happy. And if you don't mind me standin' here. Not that I don't trust you, mind. I just..."

Her eyes trace over the darkness and the unnatural motes of light hiding unknown creatures in the murk. Katherine shrugs again, and tries to stick her hands in her pockets. Her skirt doesn't have any. She wraps her hands behind her neck, instead.

"Say," she says, "Did you forget to sing to your fire, Mister? It looks really sad."

"Yu-- sorry, you don't know her, my best friend swears by that technique. She even sings to the wood before she lights it. Says a bit of joy sparks three times brighter than the best kindlin' you could ask for. And she, oh right first of all she's a sun farmer see? Carries jars full've the stuff with her wherever she goes. So she's an expert on light and warmth and stuff.

"People do make fun of her I guess. But I dunno. I don't think she'd agree with all that stuff about the earth bein' ready to eat us, and I can't say as I do either. 'Cause like, how to put it? Her campfires are so pretty and nice that animals'll just come and sit next to her while she's cookin' stuff on 'em. And yours is... honestly Mister, I think your fire might be crying."

Return to Thellamie

Problem is obvious. Assessment is a waste of precious time.

Phase 1: Set up. There is a figure in the mist positioned with intent to direct the flow of enemies around and toward the magician. It is imperative to neutralize this figure. Separate heartblade into component swords, techniqueless throws. Pin to hot springs entrance by sleeves: non-violent, non-invasive, non-aggressive. While figure will remain capable of wriggling free, the only thing required to purchase is time.

Immediate ollie, stomp kick into draft created by fireballs. Infuse spare pen with light, throw toward magician. Combination of precision movement on skateboard and release of magical/light/heat source toward their position will herd rootwalker cluster onto her position specifically. Nosegrind, dismount, high leap (magically assisted), rainbow arc.

Phase 2: Execution. Sufficiently surrounded by hostile forces, interfering magician will attempt wide area dispersal conflagration spell. Colloquial name, Explosion. Timing is essential. At moment of peak energy build and not one second before, descend and execute three part attack.

Woe betide you. A maid descends. A cat descends. From the haze of the mist, from the ceiling above by the sudden sound of planted feet and the rustling of fabric, a maid-knight drops on top of Tsane and swings a blunted metal longsword onto her shoulder. A simple piece of metal has no ability to incapacitate a sufficiently talented and determined wizard, at least compared to a heartblade, but none of this truth stops it from hurting a lot.

The maid-knight pushes away at the moment of impact and lifts her own body back into the air, where she twirls three times toward the floor and winds up enough momentum that when she aims the next swing at Tsane's ribs the resulting impact is enough to not only drive the air from her lungs but also lift her bodily off the floor. The instant her knees pass above the knight's descending face, she reaches up with her free hand and snatches at an ankle.

Landing wide flat on her right foot and with just the heel of her left, she swings her hips hard and adds a final spin and release to hammer toss this offending mage directly into the hot springs, though not before bouncing her like a skipping stone off of a certain assassin/idiot/paladin/professional nuisance.

Phase 3: Chain Reaction. Having waited for the form of the spell to complete, gathered spell ink will trigger in uncontrolled burst directed downward by simple realities of magician's facing. The release of such a large scale of powerful magical fire will, through a combination of heat and raw concussive force, cause a large scale geyser of heated water to spray across the entire lower region of the Chrysanthemum.

With nowhere else for the water to go, it will descend. To wit: it will rain indoors. Flames doused, dust settled, walls and floors washed, current batch of rootwalkers upended, all available parties and obstacles directed toward one another and (more crucially) away from location of central tree.

Phase 4: Cleanup. Remount skateboard and travel to invasion source to apply sealing techniques. I believe this technically still counts as battling the Architect-Knight. Priority afterward will be swift retreat toward town proper to assess and limit damage.

In the thick curtain of steam and falling water, the briefest flash of black and white and violet. The sound of rolling wheels quieted by distance and the blanket of moaning and shouting that has been tossed over this lower area of the Chrysanthemum. If anyone is paying attention to her, Eclair Espoir might be given credit for saving the day. Or she might be accused of trying to ruin it.

Sometime after this, and soon, there will be speculation. All that will be able to be said with certainty is that she was here. Vaguely. Somewhere. In this precise moment there are no eyes to track her. There are no hands to help her, and none to hinder her. This is as it should be. Eclair's magical technique is virtually non-existent. Her ability to work in concert with others on matters like this is rudimentary at best, and where there are likelihoods for conflicting methods of resolution and a breakdown of communications she would be an active hindrance to the safeguarding of this inn and den of pleasure/mystery/intrigue.

But by herself, she is a maid-knight. And if what is needed is to clean up a mess, to shut a door up tight, and make beautiful and real again that which has been nipped at by thoughts from the Outside, there are few creatures anywhere in Thellamie who could do a better job than she can. This whole absurd strike and battle plan has served no purpose other than to position her in place to do that lone thing as cleanly and quietly as possible.

There is, after all, still so much left to attend to.

Sunshards: Chaos Sequence

"Eugh, what is that smell? Are these your tunnels, Miss - I mean Lady - I mean Sir? Berserker. No? They're not? Then these have just been all the way down here the entire time? Oh gross this must be where the demons live. Oh ew ew ew ew ew."

"...I hope Miss Saber is ok. Huh? No I know she's super tough. No I know she's probably up to something sneaky! No I-- well ok fair point. But still. The whole reason I thought I could trust her in the first place was 'cause've how much she seemed to love the sky and the trees when we fought her the first time. I think this might make her sick."

"...Berserker I don't like it down here. Everything smells like, like... like math. Really big numbers, y'know? The kind no one has any use for. It's dusty. Like Capitalism! I think that's what Hyra called it. Cy says it's what foxnip smells like but I... hope not. I really, I don't. I don't like it."

"Hey. Am I-- Am I a bad fox?"

.

.

.

.

.

.

"...Oh thank goshies I think I see her. Ok quiet like, now. Miss Saber? Is that you? We came, see? How can we help?"

Breathless Dead

Bella flinches as though something had just punched her in the stomach: a sudden sharp intake of breath, a slight crunch forward, and a gasp forced out of her. Her teeth clench so hard that it spoils her attempt at a smile into a death grin, and even the attempt at incredulous laughter grinds down against a horrible moaning sigh that won't stop, it won't stop, it just won't stop.

Her entire body trembles with fear. Her forehead slicks with foul smelling sweat. She almost doesn't notice the tear rolling down her cheek from her golden cat's eye. She lifts a hand to cover that entire half of her face, rather than wiping anything away.

"Go fucking figure."

No good. Her legs have turned to marble where she stands. Her heart is pounding so hard it's begun to drown out the sounds of the ship, so determined to cling to life that it might be killing her. Her head is swimming; every breath is choked by the smells of salt and sour wine. Bella cannot in this moment ever remember being more afraid. At least with her Mother there'd been a sad nobility to her last stand, but this was so fucking stupid and pathetic she can't find the anger that fuels her combat potential no matter where inside herself she looks for it. There is only the terror of impossibility.

Fuck you, Artemis.

"Spend my entire stupid fucking life getting underestimated and stepped on. And the one gods damned time it'd help me I get this. Well. Fuck me, fine. Is this what being respected feels like? Then give me more. I want more!"

Out of nowhere, she starts laughing. Her Auspex locks onto a space above the unicorn (is that a shield? What a novel fucking concept), and in the rush of adrenaline that follows Bella finds her body weighs nothing at all. It's not anger that lifts her into the air, but love. Her family is with her. Her family is against her. Her family needs her. What better cause to fight can there be?

Her legs tense. Her fingers curl, and thick, curving talons grow a full six inches out from her fingertips. Her teeth flash like wicked lightning in the dark. She leaps into the air, flying straight at Vesper. As horrifying a concept as it might have been, right now she was trapped in a war of information. But so what? Show her what you hid up your sleeves when no one was looking, Sister. Does the answer to this obvious response come from the guardian beneath her, or from a new trap? How hard is it going to hit?

If you're so much better than her, you stupid bitch down there, then bring it.

Return to Thellamie

They call her the Violet Flash. This is why.

Owing to height and weight advantage, opponent will attempt hammer blow from above head, at left. Dodge in direction of swing, use drafting to follow in semi-vacuum behind, swing around and run up length of arm. Roll heartblade at center of balance along wrist, cut at thumb, forearm, elbow, bicep, and shoulder. Rise into air, crash down with sword. Momentum presses body up again, use to dodge counterswipe. Fall again with heel kick plant weight on opponent chest and push to floor.

The Architect-Knight is a dangerous opponent and the largest single threat to the Chrysanthemum if left unchecked. In this exact moment, she is an extension of Eclair's skateboard. The pair of them slide across the floor toward a decorative fountain while Eclair whirls her opalescent heartblade all about her with the air of a fire dancer.

If Yuki Edogawa has a moment to watch this, she will note with whatever degree of interest she finds appropriate that none of these apparent blows have landed on Eclair's opponent. Instead they knock debris and porcelain into a single neat pile toward the wall, push furniture to the side and upend it into the sort of formation a restaurant would choose at closing time, as well as purge the dust from the area she crosses as she goes. She stomps her foot at the last second and flips off of the Architect-Knight.

It is necessary to put herself underneath the opponent in time to knock her into the sky and bat her back down into the water without damaging the masonry. Eclair lands lightly on the lip of her skateboard and flourishes with both weapons.

Single breath, apply Light enchantment to extend size of heartblade for exactly three seconds. Kickflip with board to gain air, aim swing on left-to-right diagonal down to redirect hammer blow into water. Resulting gate should wash unaccounted for rootwalkers down from upper level, dagger, dagger, dagger at one, six, and eight o'clock positions to finish. Land, heelgrind, push away and repeat climb on opposite arm. Denied full feeling in limbs, opponent will attempt shoulder check. Plant swordarm on neck and perform somersault to strike at back of opponent's head.

At some point during the action, Eclair has managed to tie a large white cloth to the tip of her tail. She defends it with strategic sweeps from both her heart and metal weapons, picking up momentum as she goes. All that wet hair is perfect for a mop. Her tail-cloth follows behind, drying the errant splashes and wiping clean the grime and bits of disgusting plant matter from the walls' many murals.

She drags the Architect-Knight across the length of the cafe twice over, and though she is not such a miracle worker that she can repair the gaping holes left by dueling dark dragons, she has at least left the rest of the building so pure that this is the only damage of note. For the moment.

"A paltry effort. I cannot continue to call myself a Maiden of the Aurora if I do not at least double this output. Do you have more to say, or may I move on to the next crisis?"

Eclair clicks her tongue with distaste. She polevaults off her heartblade to let her tail reach a stubborn spot on the ceiling before landing with a curtsy.

[Defy Disaster with Daring, risking her own physical wellbeing (and reputation, one supposes): 5 + 4 + 2 = 11. If Fight is more appropriate I will switch course.]

Breathless Dead

"No shit? How would that even come about? What kind of stupid-- Skeleton people... that's really fucked up. There's no way Demeter would be ok with that. That's, ugh, gods I'm picturing it. No that's gross. That's really gross, Ves. Glad you're not at the point where that's acceptable losses."

There is something soothing about the architecture of this place, despite its history. The idea of such grand workings and intent having their intent befouled by practical needs and the harshness of reality, perhaps, or even more simply than that just seeing an attempt at perfection fall short helps ease the tension in Bella's breath just a little.

Without that much, she might be dead right now. The air is hot, even accounting for the insane bullshit 'hide inside a star' plan the ship was preparing for, the atmosphere in this place is hostile and unbearable. Everything is too heavy by half, and it takes concerted and conscious effort to keep her posture straight and her hands up enough to defend herself if, no. When the moment comes. Her blood feels like it's trying to jump out of her body. Her eyes both feel as if they were being crushed under a vice. There's a headache crushing her skull and a dryness on her tongue that no amount or vintage of wine could ever hope to solve.

She tries to flex her fingers, to keep them loose. Every knuckle on her hand seems to pop like a firecracker as she moves from open palm to fist and then back again. Her claws feel pain, and so much weight pressed into them that they might as well be buried in some jackass king's chest right now. She can even feel the blood sickness swirling in her throat.

It has been since the Eater of Worlds that she felt this level of unprepared. Unqualified, and desperate. Her ear twitches, and she rubs at it with the back of one finger and a wince.

"I'd really like to believe you're telling me this because you like me, Vesper. Because that'd mean you're hoping I'll agree with you and just climb up there to join your stupid fucking plan. Not that you need me for any of it, but I happen to have it on good authority you've already made preparations to hand me my own ass and it would be a relief at the very least to know you don't want to."

Try as she may, Bella cannot keep her voice from straining. Or her jaw from clenching in between sentences. Her agitation is obvious to even the most distracted dullard who could be watching, from the muscles all over her body pulled so taut they're quivering to the restless tail at her back that won't stop bushing to its maximum volume.

The beating of her heart is audible. Bella plants her feet and cranes her neck to watch Vesper, and her eyes narrow to shield themselves from the light.

"...How about we turn it around for once? Just give up on this plan and walk away on your own this time. I don't want to do this, Sister. I'm begging you not to make me."

Sunshards: Chaos Sequence

The tears just wouldn't stop streaming down Kat's face, only the meaning of them had shifted. She stands there, one hand clasped over her mouth and the other half twisted out to stop Berserker from hurting herself before she'd put it together that she was doing the exact opposite, listening to her Servant's voice for the very first time and feeling her heart burst from the sheer beauty of it. She's also (not that it matters) redder in the cheeks than a rose.

Yeah she asked the question, but what pure hearted maiden would be ready for the answer? Kat knew a lot of things a body could grow up to be, but this is her first time bein' face to face with an actual, no-fooling knight. She can feel her knees going wobbly underneath her, but she doesn't dare let them drag her to the ground.

"What? I'm not," she catches herself in the nick of time, "I mean... no. Of course. I-if it's for you, Berserker. I'll be your princess."

She's very careful to pronounce the lower-case p, at least. Some dreams are too beautiful to risk letting them get one the wrong end of an over excited Qiu. Katherine offers her hand to Berserker to help her pull herself up and touches the back of that hand to her lips after, right on the spot where her Command Seals ought to be. And how funny a feeling it is, the double swooping inside her stomach. The thrill of a girl finding her first crush. The guilt of needing this long to figure out how to be a good Master.

If only she could take back those orders. If only she'd known the right way to navigate those situations without needing them. Back in the fight in Miss Saber's giant evil robot thingy, she'd watched her use a Command Seal in a really weird way. What was it again? 'I order myself, survive this'? Or something like that? Neverminding how she'd managed to wind up with her own Master's seals, she'd taken that power and used it to give herself a lift. She wishes she could do something like that for Berserker. Claim victory! Or, or be the very bestest knight you can be!

But all she can give her beautiful Servant is a shy, sweet smile. A smile that turns a little bit sweeter and a whole lot shyer when she realizes she's looking at Berserker's face for the first time without that horrible helmet's facemask covering it up. And she's beautiful. A stern and boyish kind of beautiful that begs to be dressed up in a crisp black suit and sent to the ball with a besotted foxgirl draped across her arm. Did she think this was a crush before? Oh goshies.

"C-c-come on then. M-my knight," she stammers, "We cant' let. Uh. S-Saber steal the show from us!"

What a shame that there's no time for kissing here. Or for courtly ceremonies and pep talks and poems or even just assurances that nothin' about the past really matters anymore if what you do in the here and now is shining and beautiful and good. Y'know? Unfortunately, there really is a crisis going on and Saber really is probably going to get herself killed without the help of a plucky young princess and her dark knight. Not to mention Miss Rider and Cy and Actia and Angelesia and what's-her-monk and wow this is a big group at this point, isn't? It's a lot to keep track of.

Kat offers Berserker her hand again and clutches the cold gauntlet tight in her delicate, slender fingers. A good princess needs an adventure like a foxgirl needs a heist, and wouldn't you know it there's both of those things waiting for her in the tunnels just underneath this castle. Their steps are slow to start, but before long the pair of 'em have broken out into a run that feels so good Kat has to bite her lip to keep herself from wooping. Stealth's important too, ok?

"I'm never gonna forget this. I promise. Never ever ever. At the end of this... i-it's you and me. Ok, Berserker? You. And me."

Sunshards: Chaos Sequence

Ok, is it honesty time? I think it needs to be honesty time. There's a whole bunch I do not know about the mechanics of what is going on here. I've said a bunch of stuff right about this or that or this other thing, about Servants and Classes and the nature of a Sunshard War and all other things. And the truth is?

I mean, I didn't make it all up. When I caught on to everything that was going on I, ok well hold on a second. There's still some stuff I shouldn't say, mostly about why I'm here telling you this story and how I wound up in that position. We're not ready for that and bein' honest (it's honesty time after all) I don't think it much matters either. Anyway. I found what I could. I did some reading in the time I had, but when the world gives its level best shot at endin' sooner or later it's either know what's happening or why and how. And I chose what, in the end.

So that's to say, I worry I might've come across as an expert of sorts till now. And I'm not. And that's, like, really important 'cause I know you're expecting me to explain why Berserker won't budge on this or exactly what possessed Saber to decide the best thing she could do is snarl back and then pivot on her heel and disappear down a trap door all by herself. I don't know. I've got no idea why it had to be this way, I just know when I see Kat's little heart breaking.

"No Miss Saber! Please don't... go."

It's already too late when she says it. Her voice breaks and drops down to a whisper. Berserker doesn't let go. Kat hangs her head in shame and defeat. All that enthusiasm and the thrill of the chase and the crime and everything else just drained right out of her and replaced with, well. I may not know what makes a Servant tick internally like, but I know how my little Katherine works.

It's not just that she thought she was getting a treat and suddenly having it taken away. Though that was in there too obviously. But it's also, that sense that she was failing some kind of test? She had a model for what a hero looked like and it looked way more like Saber than her own Berserker. Not only was she failing to live up to that model right now, in a moment where she was more convinced than ever she wanted to be the one doin' it, going in and saving the day and maybe someday getting to reference The Wandering Tales of Katherine Isabella Fluffybiscuits, she also felt guilty that she couldn't connect to the spirit who had come and bonded to her when she called to them. To find herself opposed to the one she was supposed to be supporting, that stung a lot. It felt like failing on every front it was possible to fail on, all at once.

She sniffles. And when she sniffles it doesn't take her very long before she's broken down into full on sobbing. And once she's crying so hard her voice doesn't work anymore, that's when she needs a hug. Kat spins on the spot in the space taken up by a sewing needle and all of a sudden the growling knight in full dressy armor and lord (lady? how does this work??) of however many hundred castles has gone from snatching at this foxgirl's shoulder to awkwardly standing there with a face buried against her neck and a whole mess of minty green hair spilling all over everywhere. What's an ancient warrior resurrected from beyond the beyond of ancient history supposed to do? Her arms automatically close around Kat's back. I wouldn't call it tender, not exactly, but it's one of those things where it turns out everybody's a person before they are themselves or their curses. Y'know?

They stand there together a while. Not a long while, but a minute or two where there's nothing but the sounds of Kat's slowly descending spiral of hiccoughs and undignified snorts and the distance-muted goings-on of a castle turning nature into war stuff. Berserker never speaks, s'far as I know she can't actually manage that in the state she's been summoned in, and Kat can't put her breathing right for even a second to push out an understandable sound.

"Why?"

It takes her six or seven tries to get that one word to come out right, and then that's it for a little bit. That word and her big, plaintive eyes are her contribution to the conversation. The moment, I guess, or maybe the cause. Come on, Katherine. Don't shrink away from the moment now. Saving the world's one thing, but this is where you save yourself, ok?.

"She... she never should've lost to me! She was so strong, Miss Saber was so..! But I fought her, me! And I won! And, and, and and and and and it's 'cause! It's 'cause! I made her promise to!! And she kept her promise even though she had no reason to and we weren't friends and she still did it! And now she's tryin'a keep her other stupid promise I made her give me 'cause I'm a dumb stupid selfish jerk and and and and and and I couldn't! Be satisfied with just one! I wanted to impress Cy! And Actia! Oh Berserker, she's gonna!!!!"

You would think that all Berserkers could really do is rage, right? It's there in the name. And remember, I read up a bit but I'm no master of lore here. I've got no idea if this is a miracle or a fluke or a coincidence or a, uh, y'know a reflex or what. But she doesn't fly off the handle and smash anything. She doesn't fortify her castle or seal off her tunnels in response to casting out the foreign intruder. She doesn't even snarl. What she does is take her gauntleted hand and pat Katherine across the back with it. Our skinny little sweetheart stumbles a bit from the power of that gesture, but the thought is there. It's almost like havin' a big sister.

You're gonna have to trust me on that one.

"I want. I want to go after her, Berserker. Please, please let me go. It's... s'not about foxgirl schemes ok? S'not! I just, I've been standin' and watchin' amazin' people do amazin' things my whole life! And they're all so brave and pretty and cool and why? How come? How come when it's my turn I'm just standin' to the side and lettin' everyone do all the work for me again? Why can't I be the hero, too? Why'm I not good enough, Miss Berserker? I know you know too! You're such a good person. You were someone's hero once too, right? But you never seem to wanna be like a Princess or a Handmaiden or a Demon Swordswoman or anything.

"I... I know we haven't always gotten along. But still. You were the one who answered me when I called. We're, we were meant for each other, right? So does? Does that mean? I-I-I-I'm not meant to be a hero either? O-o-or. D-does it mean somewhere deep down, you still wanna shine bright too? Please, Berserker. Please tell me. Please..."

Well, that's a good question. Is there a hero inside of you, Berserker?