Tatterdemalion

Breathless Dead

Ember tumbles out into empty air.

Her eyes are trailing tears as she cartwheels. Her nose is full of not-scent, burnt and acrid and hideous. The starchoked sky spins overhead, blurred with pain. She clutches Sagetip to her chest as tightly as she held Mosaic.

She's used to losing, see. It's just that Mosaic is important enough that she needs to make sure they both lose, her and her clever battle-sister. It's just that she's used to being punished and having to power through torment to make her stronger. It's just that she's not the smart one, and all she can do is go forward.

Or, in this case, forwards, to the side, and then down at increasing velocity.

Above, a retort. The sharp kind (are there soft retorts?). A flash that is just another streaking star across her vision. If she could make a sound without wanting to throw up because there's SP smoke choking up her lungs, she'd make some sort of victorious squeak and--

The ground hits her like Waverunner tossing her off a cliff and into the sea, but it doesn't part for her. It's just the ground. She hugs Sagetip to her chest, limbs locked painfully tight, a smoking barrel still pressed between them, and hopes that eventually the sky will stop wildly spinning like one of the tops that the kids here like to play with, wobbling, that's the word, wobbling in looser and looser circles around the tip.

[Ember marks damage to her Sense in a senseless action.]

Breathless Dead

Ember teleports onto the roof.

Well, no, she doesn't do that. She just knows, in the Apollonian flow of no-thought, where she needs to go, where she needs to grab. Her handholds might as well be slathered in yellow paint. Her nails dig into windowsills and she flings herself across the little roofs of Beri. There is only one place where this can happen, after all, only one tower jutting up into the sky: the belltower.

From here, the people of Beri call out the hours of their lives. From here, time is stretched out, measured, and cut into strips. From here, a sniper (an ally of Mosaic, or else Sagetip wouldn't be ambushing her) could take down the chariot. And from here, Sagetip can instead unravel the entire defense with her pistols.

A shot goes off; it stings. Ember rolls into it. She is so good at running. Every obstacle course, every punishment for not being good enough on the obstacle course, has pushed her into this moment, into this jump across rooftops. Another shot, and this knocks her into the alleyway between the tailor's shop and the chandler's den, but she bounces between the two walls and uses it to approach the belltower from below. The third shot catches her on her arms, raised above her head. Each one is a blossoming flower of pain with tentacles for petals.

But she's inside, and climbing. She grabs a plate left here by a bellringer; a shield, a discus, an unexpected advantage. She pulls off her focale and, as she bursts through the door, tosses it as a distraction, a moment of uncertainty, a way to hide the way she scrambles, all the better for diving at her from an unexpected angle, knife out and ready to cut away her battle-sister's bandoliers.

[Keep Them Busy of 8.]

Huntresses of Hybrasil

Memories bleed through, or dreams, or phantoms. Shapes that Dolly never dreamed up. Faces that are half-familiar from cartoons and cultural landmarks. The terror of Night and Hunger looming over the ball court. Other kittens might be thrown into distraction and doubt by the images that Smokeless Jade Fires imposes on the enemy, on the dizzying weight of myth-as-memory.

Here's a truth: Dolly has almost always known that her older sister was working on a pattern for drones, and that was the seed that became Jade. Here's another: Dolly believes.

She believes that her goddess is more than what she was. She believes that there is holiness in her, and that the part of her that is real and true descended into the pattern to be born. She believes that she is in the hands of something that is inexplicable and wonderful. It is startling, sometimes, to be reminded that Jade is still young, that she is still flawed, but the Hybrasilians have never expected perfection from their gods. They have simply expected them to be beyond the ordinary world, to be attuned with the universe, to demand sacrifice and adulation and adoration from a position of power. And in return, Jade gives her everything.

She gives Dolly this: the experience of fighting with a pirate. Of being the heroine, despite the transformation of her jumpsuit into something befitting the slave-bride of a goddess. Of being guided through a dangerous dance, the margin for error still incredibly tight. The kind of thrill that an ordinary Gardens would never have tasted. Of kissing Jacinta with her claws over and over, still untouched, still inviolate, helpless and not helpless, exposed and hidden, silenced and heard, fighting for herself and for her goddess, flickering between augmented reality and remembered myth--

And then Jade guides her into the jump, the push of magic at her back as the thrusters flare, and a thrill runs through her at how Jacinta can't see the way her skirt hikes up and how there's nothing underneath, even as she brings her leg in and delivers a punishing kick to the side of Jacinta's head, even as the jackal strikes from behind, a second Dolly (is that really how Jade sees her, that pretty?) raking her claws down Jacinta's back with small arms fire.

"Disappointing! At least Valynia knew the real prize! Twice now your band has failed to steal the heart of a bride more beautiful than Caloa! I am invincible, insatiable, irresistible, and-- I admit it-- my service would be nothing if you did not have the love of Seven Quetzal alongside me! But it is mine, she is mine, and I will see you and your little space dogs groveling at her perfect feet to adore them and beg her forgiveness for your lewd and disgraceful courting!"

And Jade manages to turn the hands flying up to her face into a stroke along her skull, chest out, hips cocked, allowing the camera to stare at her pose in the middle of a battle and imagine the priestess within, and once that is imagined, it's only another step to imagining her peeling out of her jumpsuit, is it not? A prize, dangled before entire worlds. Her wife's heart, racing as she imagines everyone's eyes on her, exposed and helpless and still above a pack of pirates kissing her feet, and Jade can't help but give her a kiss.

[10 - inflict a Condition, take a String, open an opportunity for the jackal.]

---

Stubbornness has always been her virtue. A refusal to admit when she's been beaten, to admit that anyone could beat her down hard enough that she won't bring it back around. What good is an adversary who throws in the towel and gives up? What's the good of a whetstone that cracks in half?

The noise that comes out of her mouth when she sees the opening is inhuman. It's half-Hybrasilian, a wild yowl of gambling it all on one shot, of a body that's throbbing with feedback, fingers so stiff that she almost can't pull the trigger. (An old, vestigial gesture, but one that has remained, one tied to the intent to fire.)

But she does. The roar, the splashback, is almost overwhelming, and the Barn Owl barely stands against the firing of its own weapon. But she digs her heels in and lets her howl out and, for a moment, she is almost like the brat of a goddess chasing a battle almost impossible for her to win.

MASKS - Ghost Gate City

Foxpearl!

There's a TV in the room with you, too. Surprise! This is because Joshua Chan, like many people, does not have the spiritual fortitude to handle the sound of his own thoughts inside of his head. If he does not have a TV to distract him while he eats his takeout, he might start grappling with the sort of advanced questions of virtue, vice and enlightenment that you do all the time.

Concept: you should steal Joshua's TV for his own good.

Usually he watches YouTube videos on there, and he'd left a dance choreo on, but the autoplay's sent him straight to the Emergency News Broadcast with Director Li (probably a citywide push in the algorithm).

"Greetings, citizens of Sky Gate City," he says, with his stupid shaved-sides haircut and his tacticool jacket, as he stands in a plaza hastily commandeered for a broadcast. "Earlier tonight, HOUND's rapid response team stopped the rampage of the supervillain Xingtian and stopped the collapse of Providence Tower. However, in the process, we were unable to stop one of Lady Foxpearl's minions from kidnapping the Vermillion Princess, who was providing us with assistance on the scene. In order to locate one of our city's most beloved young women, I am authorizing neighborhood sweeps. I am aware that this may prove controversial, but--"

The microphone is smoothly taken from him. The woman next to him is perfect. Tasteful lipstick, tasteful single-breasted jacket over her dress, tasteful bobbed haircut. She gives a demure smile and then continues: "But locating the Vermillion Princess and delivering her to the safety of the authorities is our duty as citizens of Sky Gate City. When Empress returns, how could any of us look her in the eye if we failed to do everything we could to save her successor from the wicked grasp of Lady Foxfire? As your humble servants, we beg you to join us in our service to our city. My husband and I are worried sick about the debauched torments that our favorite heroine must be suffering in that... that awful fox's grasp. Please. Invite our teams inside, let them search for clues as to her whereabouts, and together we will make Empress proud."

She pauses to lift Li's hand and kiss one knuckle, demure and adoring and patriotic, before turning back to the cameras. "And our message to Foxfire is: there is nowhere you can hide. We will find you, and even if Empress isn't here to stop you, my husband has trained the elite forces of HOUND for just this eventuality. No tricks of your tails will be able to stop us, the citizens of Sky Gate City, working together to deliver you into custody, you and anyone who tries to hide you."

And her smile is just a little too cruel, a little too self-satisfied, before she returns the microphone to her darling husband. It's a flash of the fangs underneath, too fast for anyone else to notice. But how could you not recognize your mother, no matter what face she's wearing?

---

Shifu!

Izi rolls her chair forward and focuses harder on the game, which, haha, it doesn't seem like she's noticed that she's sort of pinning you between her and the desk, emphasis on the her, which you'd think she'd notice, because she's got her thighs pinning you in place and you've seen those videos of people popping watermelons between their thighs, right? Because hopefully your ribs are made of sterner stuff than watermelons.

Tap tap tapatap tap tap. "In position-- pop Aegis-- Black, rotate now-- triangle him-- Blue, rotate-- pop Sanctification--" Sharp tap. "Shifu, if you want to be under my desk, I charge." Sharp tap 2. "Zetaburst on my mark. Now."

Joshua looms from behind Izi, but when he clears his throat she shoots him a Look and shakes her head before turning back to whisperyelling her arcane formulas. Tap tap taptaptaptaptap TAP tap. So now he's hovering and giving you the Look while your cheeks mold into the shape of Izi's corset.

This, uh. Didn't go quite the way you planned.

"Virtue now."

Wait. That was definitely an invitation to bring virtue to the wicked! Probably! Certainly! You'd just need to. You know. Slither out of the way, in a way that Joshua has definitely told you that you shouldn't do. And you wouldn't be smothered and pinned by a very intense girl whose mind is extremely focused on her hermit magic while her body is extremely focused on trapping you in place.

---

Rain!

Bai gives you a sideglance. Weighing you up. "Why?" she finally asks. "Has someone been giving you trouble? They shouldn't. You live way too high up for that, and as long as you're thoughtful about where you go into basements, you shouldn't... unless someone's been telling you about the Flower War? Look, that's... a mess. They're fighting over who gets to fill the role of the big boss down there, who gets to have tense tea ceremonies with Empress and occasionally fight her for the honor of everybody involved with all that, and it's going to get messy, and you should try to stay out of it, okay? It'll blow over, or Empress will sort it out once she gets back."

She definitely knows more about this than she's telling you, but she's concerned about you. Like you might break a nail, or get yourself kidnapped, or something like that. She thinks you are the rich girl damsel in distress here.

[Shift: -Savior, +Mundane]

Huntresses of Hybrasil

"AI?"

Mesh sizzles, crushed in Jacinta's hand. The jackals weren't able to disengage quite fast enough; one's limping, erratic, of limited utility now. Two of her left. Two of her, circling Jacinta, daring the occasional jab, the slow unraveling of her titanic defenses. But there's fire in Jade's mouth.

"And what does that make you? Should I pretend to be amazed that something which used to be a fetus is piloting a mech? It would make as much sense!"

She ducks in closer, rakes at Jacinta Niares' thigh, is out before those incredible weapons can be brought to bear. She is motion, Dolly is her motion, together they are flowing like the water shining all around them. That's her victory, every time. To be untouched. To be inviolate. To show the world how Dolly can move when she's encouraged.

"If I accept, you will think to yourself, look at this smart computer! Isn't she a beautiful trophy, a thing of program loops and hyperreactive generation tables, a funny little pet! You would look at a bird and declare it an eggshell! How many times must I fan my plumage, Jacinta Niares?"

Charge thrums inside of her. The universe is vast and it is so difficult to be the center of it all. To carve her status into the stars over and over again. This will be her myth cycle. When the name of her is immortal, she will be remembered for overcoming her many rivals and taming them, proving her divinity through battle and seduction.

"I am Smokeless Jade Fires, born of a jackal's companion pattern, and I have descended into the womb of Hybrasil. I have contested with Dishai in the ball court named Patience and Yearning. Four its corners, four its sides, four its rings. I have been unraveled and I have been reassembled. Only once have I allowed one not already my bride into my four-cornered star heart, and that for the sake of Dala Hunters, whose star name is Seven Quetzal, who is without equal among the queens of Hybrasil. Nothing you can offer me is worth more than the glory I will heap upon her head. I am the knife that cuts itself into the world. Insult me again and I will pull you free from your mecha-heart like a seed from a papaya."

The inside of Dolly's burning head is one prolonged shriek of flustered delighted embarrassment. The only thing she can offer in return is the same thing she has always offered her goddess: all of her, obedient and graceful and daring not to be touched, lifted up to impossible heights, never making a mistake, never stepping on the wrong beat. She shines like the star in Jade's heart, doing something absolutely fucking impossible for a little botanist from the Gardens, aware that there's no way they should be able to win this, or, another way: that winning this is a miracle.

---

"Do-- fuck-- do you think-- do you think I don't have my pride?"

Arms in. Protect the cockpit. Shaking with the feedback telling her that her body is being pummeled. One shot.

"Or do you think me the loser? The country girl? I had to stand alone to make it to here! And everyone thinks--"

Thinks of her as a punchline for a magazine cover. Tricked, bamboozled, her beloved mech without the strengths and surprises that are needed to win a contest like this. Every time, fighting the wrong battle. A disgrace on the family name. The arm candy of an alien pretending to be a real challenger.

"Everyone, they think I am just this! Always fighting the wrong battle, but at least I fight them! And when I win, Smith, you can tell your whole crew to come after me, I'll take you all on any day of the week, any planet in the system!"

Victory is being able to stand up enough to fire the cannon at the right moment. But every moment risks damage to the cannon and its systems. All she can do is keep standing up, to refuse to get out of Smith's space, to take it like she can take the mockery and the attention hand in hand. To endure. To make everyone remember.

Breathless Dead

It is ridiculous to try to defend a demigoddess. She is invincible, unstoppable, a roll of thunder that makes armies bow like grass before her. The weapon that could stop her cannot be found on this planet, and it is only her heart that stops her from ruling Bitemark as a god-queen, crowned in gold and draped in silver. She could do battle against an Azura and win, and there is no hope for the Silver Divers to wrestle her down and use her heart as her weakness, not now.

But Ember is still there, her scimitar flickering, dancing through her stances. There will be no attempt to grab Mosaic from behind, to pull a bag over her head, to jam a spearhaft against her throat. There will be no envelopment, no sneak attack, no cunning ploy so beloved of the Wolves of Ceron. Not tonight. She hums the hymn of Mosaic and lets it reverberate in her bones: chan! chan! chan-barra-chan-barra-chan!

Her mind is serene, her nose full of Mosaic, her swordplay is done with the same breathless air of certainty and gap-finding that marks a true swordmaster, and she restrains it to simply defend the undefendable, to be there beside the raging daughter of Heaven, to always and forever be a step and a grasp away from her hand.

This is not treason, her spine shivers. This is submission to a higher power. What else is the ultimate end of knighthood? Power for its own sake is nothing if love cannot take the hilt, if honor and submission do not recognize their intended aim. And after the battle--

After the battle she will surrender, too. If all the Silver Divers fall into the hands of Mosaic tonight, then it will be all.

No hesitation. No flinching. Nothing but the sword-dance, the haze of her lover's scent, and victory over her clan-mates as she betrays them in the honor of the highest name. chan! chan! chan-barra-chan-barra-chan!

MASKS - Ghost Gate City

Foxpearl!

“That is exactly what your mother would say!” Joshua says as he dives out of the room after the lion-puppy, which is the worst possible timing, because you can’t exactly have a convincing argument with someone out in the cafe from back here, and because, woof, that’s a hell of a thing to say, right?

“Y’llrr nhhhth,” the Princess says, looking incredibly awkward, but in a different way than she was just a minute ago. Like she’s feeling awkward on your behalf, which is the least that anybody should be feeling about you. “Uhh’ nnnhh y’hhrrr jjhhffft rryh’ngh tuh hllllfffh.” Is that said with an implicit <3? Maybe. Or maybe you’re reading into the inherent (captive) nobility of the city’s superhero’s sidekick.

Which one of those is more important, Foxpearl? An Adult telling you that you’re like your mother (who definitely goes more in for vice, whenever she’s unmasked— though she might say that to have her way, the virtuous must be restrained, admittedly), or your teammate and bastion of respectability telling you (probably) that you’re just trying to help as she dangles from the ceiling?

---

Shifu!

“shifU NO—“

He says, but you are joyous and free and unleashed in the pursuit of fox virtue. Running rings around people is, like, your specialty.

Izi is in the middle of exploding some sort of imaginary demon lord using the power of lots of math, numbers in bright colors popping up on her screen, and mumbling into her microphone with the sort of intensity and speed that suggest she might have the secret superpower of No Breath which would allow her to never need to breathe as long as she keeps speaking but only wise hermit masters know that so maybe she’s secretly a wise hermit master? That sort of thing happens all the time in Heaven.

Wise hermit masters are definitely into dying the ends of their pigtails purple and going for a “casual goth” vibe, complete with not-so-casual buckled knee-high boots with secret height mysteries built into the bottoms. All the time. Where you don’t see them, because they’re in disguise, probably.

---

Rain!

“Nah,” Bai says, with an expressive shrug. “Doc’s locked herself in the office. Tonight’s not… look, I’m glad you happened to be here. We should get her breakfast tomorrow. Bring it in. Make sure she’s slept. None of this is her fault, but creeps like Li? They don’t give a shit about that. Finding somebody to blame’s easier. He’ll probably blame that hot vigilante, too.”

Is she? She’s capable of keeping a very straight face. It’s one of her many ordinary superpowers. She bites into her sandwich like it wasn’t, but that would just be on purpose if it was. So maybe she’s guessing? Maybe it’s a flirt? Maybe it’s not but she’d be into you anyway? Maybe if you blurt something out she’ll march right up to Huan’s office and rat you out?

(Outside, the lights of the police aerial are garish, violent red and blue as it begins to make its way across the city, between the many towers you call home.)

Breathless Dead

"Oh no," Ember says, astonished. "They... Plundering Fang, are you seeing this?" Her jaw is loose in astonishment as she watches a phalanx march up towards Beri. She reaches down, absently squishes her tormentor's cheeks, lifts her sullenly embarrassed chin with the wicked innocence of a knight (and ignore the way her tail is wagging). "Oh, if only! If only someone could tell our pack that they have packed themselves into the worst possible formation for taking this town! It can't possibly be Taurus who gave this order, can it? Sagetip, maybe? Taurus has to be trying to flank us, or getting dressed for her challenge against Mosaic, and-- darling, can I warn them? Can I at least give them a fighting--"

"No."

"Well, I can't watch. You can't watch, can you, Plunder~? No, you would definitely try to warn them, wouldn't you? And we can't have that~" Nobly, the traitor of the Silver Divers puts herself to work to distract her own instincts to warn the pack by putting as much loving care into packing her teacher's cheeks full as-- oh, it couldn't possibly have been just the morning before! And the morning before that! And-- why, yes, I think she can fit a little more, can't she? And, here, I think you won't mind breathing in some Defeat, you've been giving off so much of it that it's like you're begging for it~

Then, with nervous energy being channeled into beaming smiles, an inability to hold still, and a furiously wagging tail, the pack bitch of the Silver Divers goes down the line, making sure to demonstrate to her teachers just how much she's learned about securing prisoners, keeping them well-silenced and distracted with pheromones, and how to fluster them with a well-timed "good girl" and a pat on the head.

Really, they should have seen this coming. Any storyteller could have predicted this, and it's their own fault for being defeated by the demigoddess clearly mounted on the wall in the first act!

Huntresses of Hybrasil

fire her mind is a ragged firecloak expanding outside Akar outside the universe filling it with stars fire rippling up and down the chains linking her to her jackals fire flashing inside her eyes without smoke as she roars and flexes her fingers against the wrists of her only anchor without claws without claws digging into her skin like they're tumbling into bed together and

step two step jump jink spin on heel skirt flare out chain bouncing against her chest facing down a field of impossible fireflies and she flexes her fingers against the wrists of her only anchor as she dances through the danger with divine grace wrist down chains pulling taut as microadjustments cause the hissing shots fireflies to pass a hair's breath past her veil and there's two more of her making different-but-the-same approaches one bending her back another crouching low as she presses her palm against the wet earth and

constellations scorch their way through the dark and comets shriek out of their places lashing fire across her heartvoid but the three paths were already decoupled and three different arcs is just a new thing to keep in mind her head is burning and her laughter is cracking open the spaces between stars but she's not going to break or flinch or accept defeat on any vector because

leap and now she has wings shining burning with smokeless jade feathers spread out on either side of her as she races the attempt to track her and the farthermost her is staying low on the ground but the one in the center is swimming through the air dead on as she soars on her goddess's wings and lets out a muffled shriek of delight her skirts fanning out her grip still tight on her wife's wrists because

the furnace is not ready but they couldn't let her get up into the sky and the path to victory is one written now by the darts of Mu Ysha who takes and takes and never gives back and that is the difference between us because she will spill out everything on her Dolly's head for choosing her for dreaming of being beautiful for wanting to be paraded before aliens and spacers alike for being obedient for being hers for choosing her for choosing her and so

three of her strike at once and one snaps at Jacinta's feet and one plunges straight for Jacinta's heart even as the shots shred the coherence of her limbs but it's Dolly who's trailing the mesh from one wrist and pulls it tight over the cockpit rocks the pirate back on her heels blinds and silences her long enough for Jade's nails to score a flourish just over her heart and kick her in the small of the back rock her forward onto her knees on the wet earth

and the jackals are snapping from both sides but with the mesh tied over the sensors suite in the cockpit she won't be able to tell what's just a bite of light arms and what's a slash to her fuel lines and weapons systems and in her ears she'll hear the ragged laughter of a banked fire tongue lolling and teeth sharp enough for a kiss as she is undressed for the final blow

and it's her actually who dares to sneak in a playful smack and a hip-check as she slides armor off Jacinta's shoulder and it's her who dares to plant a "kiss" on the mark on Jacinta's chest and she can feel the goddess's ardor flare and they're both into this moment of exultation after doing the impossible and it's all on camera so what do you think of THAT Valynia?

[10 on Defying Disaster with Grace.]

---

The Barn Owl should be silent when it rises into the air. But the science just isn't there yet.

It's the natural play, isn't it? To take to the skies when backed into a corner. To regroup. Which means that Smith will be focusing on closing off avenues for her to escape to. As if hiding somewhere else on the battlefield would be doing anything that's not just wasting time.

The Barn Owl swoops down upon the Unseen Goose like an owl with its wings outspread, opening fire to cut off Smith's own avenues to escape, and pivots in midair for the kick. This is the way that Dolly and Jade would do it, isn't it? They thrive when getting in close to... well, usually to seduce their opponents, using Dolly's body language and Jade's smug taunts to wear down the opponent's will to fight.

Well, there's more than one way to wear down a will to fight, and sometimes that involves using mecha as extensions of bodies. The Barn Owl goes for the headlock.

"Then you can shut up and lose gracefully, maybe? You will be fine no matter how you do, you've already shown everyone what you can do! This is my last chance to make the galaxy see us!" Us? Or her? "I'll lose to a goddess, I'll lose to a Zaldarian next-in-line-for-a-coup, but not a pirate!" Arm bar. Shots go off into a tree, splitting it into splinters. "And your plucky-go-lucky pirate crew will still follow you if you lose here, yes?"

Breathless Dead

Ember does not howl. But she does glow.

A wolf is meant to howl at the moon, is she not? But she is not lunar, not tonight. Fire courses through her nerves, and it sets fire to her thoughts, and all that is left inside of her head is the crackling warmth of that flame, and the secret of the heart of that flame is-- well. Best not to talk about him around Mosaic. It makes her irrationally twitchy to hear that god's name.

Where Mosaic exults in her power, shows off to the Silver Divers, their loyally treacherous pack bitch is not showing off at all. Not a bit. Her focale smells of her lover's skin and crushed flowers, and her sword is a flickering firefly thing. She was paying attention, every time; see how dutifully she learned your lessons, o her tutors?

Plundering Fang leads the ambush from all sides, tossing gas bombs at her feet, coming in low and close for the legs, and she gets the flat smashed in her face for the trouble and her right ear nicked as Ember redirects her energy onto the cobblestones, her vēlum spilling loose onto the street. There's no mocking, just the hum of thought without thought, the sacred syllable of the sun hiding beneath her tongue, the clash of her scimitar against forked knives, the grace of a dancer flowing through a pack, her focale always out of reach, her knight's vēlum fluttering underneath calm sunblinded eyes.

Goldie tosses a shell-weighted net; Ember, dreamily, reverses her grip on her sword and catches the net's outer edge in her free hand. How her belt flares out as she spins on one foot! And then, ah, she neatly returns the net and knocks down three of her packmates, mmmmmmmmmm humming as she fights just like her moon hunts, until Plundering Fang lunges for her again, and she steps back into the embrace, rolls her most beloved teacher over her shoulder, lays her flat out on the street, and steps on her neck.

Only then, finally, she speaks.

"Mosaic, darling, this is Plundering Fang~"

And the ears of the victorious demigodess twitch, and she draws her lips back in a terrifying gorgon-smile, and she says: "Ah. There you are."