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Marigold	. . .      Time passes. Dieck returns wearing a too-small swim-shirt bought from a tourist shop and disgruntledly carrying a sad little beer. After finishing her pizza, Cecilia is back at the glass railing, staring down at the airport shuttles tensely.      "Maybe they caught wind."      "No. That's impossible," Cecilia tells Gebura, but her knuckles on the railing are getting a little white. "Discussion of this mission was only between my inner circle and Roy. We were careful. Maybe he's finding new portal routes every time, but..." She doesn't want to have been outwitted. Not now; not after calling you all in.      Flamel, digging through the vendors' minds, starts to very slowly assemble a picture. They've all seen odd quantities of military-style rations coming through here before. They all know who you'd pay to get to turn a blind eye to breastplates and arrowheads. The broad sousveillance panopticon low-level-workers' awareness turns him towards a certain gate with slightly laxer security, towards a group of odd men with a certain stiffly military way of walking, towards--      He 'sees' it through the collective mindscape before the others do, but it won't take long for Cecilia to pick it out, either. A shuttle, not so unlke the others, with about eight men walking alongside it.      One of them, near the fore, is a tall, broad man with blonde hair and a heavy coat. If Narcian was a hollow imitation of Zephiel, General Murdoch is the man Zephiel once wanted to grow up to be: looming, with a grave and tired nobility about him. There are bags under his eyes. "No way," Cecilia gasps softly. "Cecilia, is that...?!" "Murdoch. It must be. Follow him. I can't believe this. We can't let him go."      But she doesn't get long to drool at the opportunity. Walking by the shuttle's rear, in a leather jacket...      Galle happens to look up. His eyes meet Cecilia's. In a gut-dropping moment, their eyes widen in tandem.      "Won't say anything if you won't."      From three stories down, there's surely no actual way Galle hears Gebura. But he does have eagle eyes-- could he possibly read her lips?      Is that why, for just a fraction of a second, he's frozen?      It doesn't last. Galle yells something. Murdoch, famed for cunning more than prowess, takes a second longer to turn, sight you, and bark something to his subordinates. By then Galle's hand is already at his hip; he snap-throws a dagger at Cecilia's head as seven of the eight caravan-guards scramble to open its crates for weapons.      Among the crowds throughout the airport, screaming starts. Just a voice or two, for now. That won't last either.
Nobunaga	Nobunaga-- having tasked the young dragonlet with keeping Igrene safe and out of harm's way, thus ensuring Fae herself is near an adult who can keep her safe in turn-- has already risen to her feet by the time Galle throws his knife. She thrusts out her right hand, manifesting a wood and metal arquebus in the weapon's flight path. The golden sparks have scarcely faded before the blade has buried itself in the weapon's sturdy wooden stock.     "I'll have you know, countless witnesses can now vouch that your side started this little incident," the warlord comments, approaching the railing with her hands in the pockets of her slacks. Stopping at the ledge, she stares down at the officers and their men, lips spread in a fanged grin, crimson eyes wide, "And from such a disadvantageous position, no less? Tsk, tsk."     One hand slides out of her pocket and raises. In response, countless rifles materialize along the edge as if they were in the hands of hidden soldiers. Not just on her own floor, but along the railings of the levels below save the ground floor where Galle and Murdoch actually are.     "You have assaulted a friend of the great warlord Oda Nobunaga. Perhaps I will permit one of you to live, so that your wretched king can know that name. Ahh, but who should it be? We'll just have to narrow down the choices." She presses thumb to middle finger and, with a sharp motion, produces a loud snap. Immediately, the guns open up on the Bernish troops as they scramble for their own arms.
Petra Soroka	"What sort of godforsaken operation is that woman running?"     "Actually-- I think I do have an answer to the lava room situation."     Petra isn't often *super* willing to exposit about the nature of the Library in Angela's place, both for security and personal reasons, but this is a theory rather than absolute fact. And it's Lilian asking! "Well, I don't know for sure, but I think it's a good guess. You how how Briah and Atziluth were more fucked up than Asiyah? And then Atziluth more than Briah-- yeah. The construction of the facility was sort of on a sliding scale of mundane concrete and metal and stuff near the top, and then gradually into psychic Light-nonsense closer to the Well; that's how we end up with, you know, all of Records' melting clock city and Extraction's infinite ceilings and all. ... Well, end*ed* up with, obviously, before they wre gone."     "Er, and, now every floor of the Library's got some batshit spacial metaphor shit going on. So I figure that the lava and the forge and all means exactly as much as the, uh, smoke-filled monochrome city of clocks in Hokmah's department... which is... I guess... a lot?" "Being smart means you get it right first try. If you're dumb you have to think lots. So Fae's the smartest!"     As much of an affection-sponge that Fae is, Petra is equally willing to pour affection back into her. She scratches Fae's head while she rubs it against her chest like a cat. Equally like a cat, Petra attempts to dispense philosophical musings onto Fae with very little likelihood they'll result in anything.     "Mmmmhm, you *are* so smart. But I think coming up with answers first try makes you *clever*, which is different. And of course, Fae's very clever, but taking the time to think about lots of different things and come up with an answer is another kind of being smart."     Petra tenses her fingers into a claw-grip on Fae's head while petting her and wobbles her head back and forth affectionately. "And smart people think of ways to *avoid* having their heads hurt from eating too quickly."     Petra is helpless in the face of the coffee incident. There's simply nothing that can be done. She gives Igrene a sympathetic look over Fae's head. "Uh, it might make her sick later, so watch out for that. Especially if she didn't have any food before that ice cream."     Leaning in closer conspiratorially, Petra attempts to salvage Igrene's ability to take Fae out into the multiverse literally ever again. "If she asks for more coffee later, order 'decaf' for her-- that means 'no caffeine'. She won't be able to taste the difference." > Clarine... puffs up? With pride, instead of anger?     Entirely expected, to Petra. Tragically, Clarine's type is one well-known to her, as much as she's wounded by seeing it. Now, it is her purest and truest hope to egg Clarine further and further on this bizarre little political lesbian path of hers to see if the mere fact of Petra's existence is capable of making some noble girl abandon her position and live in a van or something.     "Mhm, that's true. But you know, Clarine, you've only got one life, and almost all of it is still ahead of you. Whatever decision you make, you'll be sticking with for a long time, but you'll never get a runback on it." Suddenly, Petra is compelled to pull her absolute most nuclear option. "... I actually abandoned a somewhat-prestigious position *I* was supposed to inherit on *my* world, if I've never mentioned that before."
Petra Soroka	"Murdoch. It must be. Follow him. I can't believe this. We can't let him go."     "Oop, fuck," Petra burbles to herself while swiping up the trash that accumulated around her, sparing a moment even in this situation to make sure that her half-empty drink cup gets put nearly into the trashcan. She swings her guitar case back over her shoulder, ready to stand up and go, but.... > In a gut-dropping moment, their eyes widen in tandem.     "How come *he* could take a knife through security?!" Petra gasps with indignation. She's delayed several seconds in her response by needing to pull her mirror pendant out from under her hoodie and flip it open, hesitating between Fourth Match Flame and the morphmetal before drawing out the latter with the transteam gun.     "I'll go and keep Murdoch from leaving. At this point we're temporarily giving up on finding their warpgate route and just going for gold, right?" It becoming an actual fight in the middle of the hub makes her wince, and try to psychically beam (without telepathy) an apology towards Lilian, before throwing herself over the short wall on the edge of the food court.     One foot lands on the handrail of the floor below, and ignoring the shrieks of people who just saw her jump off of a ledge, she vaults from there onto the smooth white roof of the ground floor stores. Sting Silver's transformation would be kind of conspicuous first thing-- and also evil-looking, which feels... more illegal to do in a warpgate hub somehow? Instead, she pulls out a long bladed plastic attachment and twists it onto the end of her transteam gun to a gritty callout of 'RIFLE MODE'-- which, in hindsight, is also a really bad thing to do in a hub-- and then lowers the gun to fire a concussive energy blast in Murdoch's direction.
Flamel Parsons	"Sighted." A worker in the Parsons Institute, in front of a security station covered in dozens of monitors showing the occular nerves of hundreds of civillians. Is this ethical? Absolutely not, and Flamel does worse on a Saturday. Big shame that the ethics committee won't return his emails. "It's him. He's here. Oh god, run the files, that's him right?" Flamel's mind scrambles, the man himself zoning out in the food court chair and staring into a 15-dollar soft pretzel like it's a crystall ball while a hundred unethical surveillance systems zero in on the man he never expected to see here.     And a man he dreaded seeing here. Uh oh.     "SHIT!" He yelps. "EVERYONE *MOVE*, KILLING INTENT JUST--!"     From where he was, astrally, one foot in a hundred minds at once, a psychic pulse bursts out with one simple intention. He doesn't have to go into someone's mind to affect it, if he's working imprecisely then it's fine to just emit a simple command:     <LEAVE THE AREA IMMEDIATELY IN A CALM AND ORDERLY MANNER>     Anyone without a reason to stay in range of his psychic relays (which excludes the Bernish forces and the Elites) will have an inexplicable compulsion to simply go somewhere else. For some of them, this will be much more explicable. Flamel erupts into action, rushing to the edge of the balcony and leaping. A thought bubble forms over him and he snags onto it, breaking his fall with just enough force that the information kiosk he lands on still shatters into a burst of smoke.     Telepathically: "Get them armed! Get them armed before this gets worse! We need weapons in League hands, whatever you've got!!" The Lycians are less than armed, and this is about to get as loud as it gets -- he cannot, CANNOT afford to have them going hand-to-hand with heavily armed Bernish soldiers. Capable though they may be, nobody can work with a situation like that, and who knows how many are here? Well... Murdoch does, and that's the problem.     Weapon disparity. Focus on area denial to avoid horrible, diadvantageous weapon disparity, that shuttle and those crates are the biggest issue. Passing by whichever civillian is nearest the sudden chaos, he reaches into their head in one clean motion and yanks out a shining translucent green question-mark, pulls the curled 'pin' of the 'grenade', and lobs it straight for the crates, bursting into a haze of psychic confusion as he tries to close the distance to a medium-range engagement.     "We need that mind. The secrets in that skull could *win us this war*, we *need that mind*!!"
Odette Raskins	Killing intent prickles on Odette's skin. Odette shivers suddenly at the cold sweat rolling down her back, but she's not sure why. Her eyes dart around a bit as she tries to figure out where that feeling came from, but she comes up with nothing and tries to just dismiss it from her mind. "Sh... Should've brought a thicker jacket..." "It's tomes that give the power to destroy." "But you'll have to develop one first." "Won't have to worry about bag space if I just focus on staves, then." Odette replies to Lucius with a light chuckle even though she didn't actually attempt a joke at all. Seeing him leaning forward and looking right at her again, some more pinkness comes to her cheeks, but she quickly fights that off as she refocuses on the topic at hand. "A spell for anesthetizing someone sounds like it'd be extremely useful for all kinds of procedures... Not having to wrangle masks or worry about different types of lungs? That's just making those sound better and better." She lets out another laugh that's more light-hearted, and then props her head up with her palms. "Focusing sounds like... Hm. Yeah, focusing sounds better. I'll focus on healing, then. There's so many people that already know how to fight, or blow stuff up, and they're super good at it." She looks over at where Cecilia and Dieck are, inhaling sharply at seeing the latter in that shirt before looking right back at Lucius. "I-I mean, I can't even tell what's happening half the time with our group. I just know it's not.. Um. Fixing people, you know? I don't want to get in the way of what everyone else is doing, so if I stick to healing... It'd be easier to make sure everyone gets to do what they're best at. I want to make sure we can all survive through past the end of all this."
Odette Raskins	"Weren't we all, once..." "What do you think your heart is hungry for, to make you feel this way?" Even though Odette knows that Lucius is probably right, the sense of shame doesn't budge one bit. If anything, it only gets worse when he starts patting her hair, and she finds it pretty much impossible to maintain eye contact while she continues listening with her head going back down to the table. "I know, but... Nnnh. I'm supposed to be a responsible, tax-paying adult now. This is supposed to be something that... I-I don't know. Teenagers go through, you know?" She replies with a light sigh, recalling both what she's seen at work and the fact that a lot of the people in this army probably are teenagers. Then again, maybe it's because they're in the middle of a war that they can ignore that so much better than her. "... Voices, faces, bodies, not in any order. Um. Th-the ones that caused the... That, I mean. Hector, Cecilia, Dieck, Echidna, Galle, you, that ghost in the axe, and that's not even getting into everyone else you don't know..." She groans again, content to just keep her head down on the table. "Like Mister Giant, Missus Dwarf, Miss Natsuki and Mister APPLe just from the last job..." She only stops withering and writhing once she realizes she mentioned Lucius, trying to stay perfectly still as though he might lose sight of her if she ceases moving entirely. It's not until she hears that yelling that Odette finally picks her head up off the table, and a little longer for her to realize something's wrong. "D... Down!" She shouts in a half-panic as she's already throwing herself over the table at Lucius and Lugh to cover them from whatever other projectiles might be coming by following that dagger toss. "A-are they crazy?! Starting up like this in the middle of a port... Stay low, okay? I-I'll.." Odette doesn't actually know what she'll do, but she's already getting back up in a half-crouch as she tries to get a better view of what Galle, Murdoch, and the guards are actually doing with those weapons. "Need to get in close so we don't hit anyone with stray... Whatever. Or maybe..." Still dressed as a concierge that definitely didn't steal the uniform from somewhere, Odette takes out a whistle and starts blowing on it a few times as she circles around the outer perimeter of where the fight appears to be starting. "A-attention, travelers. Attention, travelers! Please remain calm on the way to your gates. If you can hear me, do not approach this area! Security has the situation under control!" She projects her voice to try and keep the area clear of travelers, hastily trying to usher anyone that isn't paying attention away so her allies can have an easier time fighting without worrying about civilian casualties.
Madeleine Cadrasteia	Madeleine, standing near enough to Roy to hear Cecilia noticing Murdoch, scrambles to think of a plan. She quickly tears away the tape sealing the 'LIVE REPTILE' box, shaking it a little to rouse Drogrung from its nap. The lindworm's skin hardens into wood as the living weapon becomes a spear, and Madeleine takes a deep breath in.     Stepping up to the railing, she exhales with a one-handed flourish almost like blowing a kiss, and an impossible quantity of misty vapor flows from her lips in a rapidly-sinking stream. The cloud solidifies into a crude chute extending down from the railing, a steep coil running to the ground floor. Madeleine looks to Roy for just a moment, almost as if to say something, but instead turns her attention back to the ground and hurdles the railing to begin her descent.     The slide finishes its self-construction just as Madeleine catches up to the structure's end, and she lands in a roll, low to the ground. She slams a gloved palm on the floor, and a cluster of ice pillars grow up from the concrete in front of her, enough to give cover for anyone else following down the slide.
Riku Asakura	Riku wasn't here with everyone initially; instead, he came with a group of back-ups, thought maybe to not be needed until things at the terminal started to go... sideways.  Weapons are drawn, screams are released, and Riku is there to see it all transpire.  He doesn't know who this guy is, exactly, but he's willing to drag a civilian area into a fight because of his mission.  That's enough for him. "You go!" he says, drawing a capsule from his holster and clicking it on.  It shines a light on its surface, and the image of Ultraman appears next to Riku.  "I go!" he says as he draws a second capsule, after inserting the first one into a holder.  This capsule lights up, and Ultraman Belial appears in a ghostly image next to him.  "Here we go!" he states, drawing the Fusion Riser across the top of each capsule.   "Time to get ready!  GEEEEEEEEEED!" he states and pulls the trigger on the Fusion Riser.  Blue light burns from his body as the two images that appeared next to him disappear and are absorbed into Riku's body. ULTRAMAN ULTRAMAN BELIAL ULTRAMAN GEED PRIMITIVE Ultraman Geed, no longer Riku, jumps in front of the soldiers and interposes himself between the civilians and the soldiers, including this new blonde commander.  Grunting, he tries to fall on Murdoch first, attempting to grapple him and throw him to the ground using his Ultraman-style of pro wrestling.  He doesn't dare fire ultra-energy beams or anything like that yet, not with so many civilians around.
Audrey Basque	Audrey, having recently returned with Petra's drink and then hanging in the general vicinity of Gebura, who was nagging her about her schedule, needs a moment to spot that there's agitation. The moment is cut quite short when Galle yells, Murdoch commands his men, and everything escalates.     The glimmer of a night sky is barely visible on the inside of her collar and sleeves, and even inside her long red skirt, when it flaps up a bit; with magic flowing through her body, the plain clothing seems a bit less plain, or rather it never was, but now it's obvious.     Step one, barrier up. Layers of space fold around her invisibly, but disrupting the air around her just a bit.     Step two, where are we? Multiple floors, people already noticing and screaming. Guards trying to arm themselves a few floors down... what's in those crates? Just swords, bows, spears? They're gearing up to stand their ground regardless-- not running? Not hurrying to try to pass the Warpgate by force?     No no it doesn't matter if they're not trying to run yet.     They *might*.     "I'm going to isolate their way to the Warpgate and keep them from the crowd while at it," she says openly, most likely to a mix of Gebura, Petra and Cecilia. It's a better job for her, while people engage the obvious hero units. Watching Petra hop off, Audrey follows-- though she's not the type to hop down several floors when she can step through a crackling pearlescent tear in space and reappear down there, positioning herself the direction the general and his men were headed, and them.     She has no qualms about twisting the place up; she can undo it, later, and it'll prevent bigger headaches.     She swipes her hands and arms, grabbing onto the scenery and stretching it. The path they were taking? It's longer. So, so much longer. Repeating, empty, like a copypaste of the halls and walls and the floor but without the people. It pushes the rest of the airport away, in a way that'd add long, precious minutes of running to reach the Warpgate's proximity.     While she's at it, a yank causes a floor tile to stretch up like a column and then bend down to try to press one of the guards into the ground. Not hard enough cause much harm, but enough to further distract.
Angela	"Well," Gebura asides to Cecilia. "Was worth a shot." Her hand lashes out, catching the knife centimers before it gets a chance to slam into Cecilia's left eye, but it has the effect of slowing Gebura that she's a second slower at summoning Mimicry into her hand in a smooth arc. Even in its base state, Mimicry doesn't look like a normal sword. It has a pair of eyes for starters and it doesn't exactly look like it's made out of metal either, rather it looks like bloody musculature formed into the shape of a large sharp blade nearly as big as Kali. There's BONE protruding out of it. With her other hand she squeezes the knife until it crumbles to tiny broken metal shards in her hands before hopping on top of the safety railing and then full on leaping down three stories. She's a very direct person. "I'll handle Galle," She says to Cecilia, turning her head so Galle can't see, since she's the general on sight. "Keep him away from Murdoch." And then she leaps down towards Galle. She doesn't see a wyvern with Galle so she figures this is her best shot to remove one of the big thorns in the Alliance's side for a long while. One way or another. General might be more important strategically, but Gebura isn't a general. If she had a better sense of general strategy, maybe the old L Corp might've never fallen. Or the new one for that matter. Gebura's armor starts forming around her. This is her first time lending these fine people a hand so it's important to go all out in her mind. The helmet forms around her first, obscuring her face and eyes and leaving a big red blue glowing circle in the center of the helmet. Lines of molten energy drip around the helmet towards the back of her head as her her hair shifts states to a burning trail behind her. The armor is still forming around her as she swings Mimicry down towards Galle a milisecond too early to hit him-- --only for the sword to growing and sharpen and expand into a long wave of slicing flesh and eyes, part blade and part monstrous deluge, expanding the range of the swing enough that it's clear she held off swinging to hide this element of her EGO until the last moment. Gebura believes the first strike should always be the most effective one. AFter all, that'll only make the rest of the fight easier. "So I hear the King gave you the sky." The Red Mist says. "Too bad for me. I don't got any better bribes than that." There are no more lips to read but it's far easier to hear her now!
Desire Stars	"He actually bought one of those?" Ace's tone is gently ribbing both in its incredulity and in its amused pity. "I should have told him they sell that kind in packs of twelve at corner stores," he says of Dieck's sad beer.     Ace and Neon can't really do inconspicuous on a modern world--not to say that they can't dress that way, but the first person that'd spot either of them alone, much less together, could start a cascading reaction of onlookers and draw a crowd quickly. So accordingly, they've both worn pretty casual clothing. Neon's in a dull blue romper with a grey puff jacket, her hair tucked into a matching blue beanie to hide her bangs. Ace wears a blue Orlando Magic ball cap and a pair of sunglasses, matched with a black hoodie, faded jeans and sneakers. For good measure, they keep a good distance away from the others.     "I don't like this waiting," says Neon with a frown--not the kind that says she's unfamiliar with this kind of tension, but just the opposite. "...all those times we got ambushed, or walked into a lion's den, were they thinking that, too, when they set it all up?"     "Absolutely. But if you keep chewing on your lip like that, you're going to give it away. Laugh like I just said something funny," he says, putting on a smile not entirely unlike his usual with an actor's ease.     Neon, a fellow performer, manages a convincing laugh, but the lingering smile afterwards takes effort. The stakeout endures in periods of tense, effortfully unacknowledged silence, interrupted by engineered conversation, until...     "Is that him?"     "They're getting up to follow. It must be. Give it a five-count and let's act like we're heading for our gate."     Then the screaming starts. I heard the initial panic, but... That's the calmest I've seen people leave something like this. Must be Flamel's work.     Get them armed! Get them armed before this gets worse! We need weapons in League hands, whatever you've got!     "Henshin!"     "Henshin!"                          Set! DUAL ON! Get Ready For...                                                         BOOST & MAGNUM!                                                                         BEAT!                                           Two Kamen Riders come sprinting across the gate hub. Na-Go holds her bladed guitar high, carefully juking around civilians before leaping onto a bench and across to a planter to skip the orderly lines of pacified onlookers. From her vantage point on the lip of the planter, she readies the guitar and strums a fast-paced, energizing anthem with bass and percussion provided by the subwoofers on her colorful armor's pauldrons. As the equalizers on her breastplate bounce to the time of the music, tangible ledger lines spread outwards to the Lycians, granting them heightened reflexes to buy some time in close combat with the more-armed Bernish forces.     Geats on the other hand, twists the accelerator on the racing-red, motorcycle themed Boost Buckle, the annealed metal exhaust pipes on his greaves blasting jets of fire as he makes a huge leap that carries him all the way to the ceiling, where an agile moonsault plants his feet on the swept surface for just a moment. Speeding across the ceiling towards the fray on jets of fire that keep him pinned against gravity's will, he levels his heavy laser blaster and makes a called shot for the weapons the Bernish soldiers are already using, intending to disarm and turn a decisive advantage into a frantic struggle, where now the Lycians, thanks to Na-Go, will have a slight advantage.
Lilian Rook	'... Huh. Alright. Guess I'll mingle, then. ... You know if that Dieck guy's single?'     "There's no way he isn't." Lilian says, out loud, strangely confident for her ostensible lack of actually trying to be mean. "Good luck." Now she looks smugly knowing.     'Being smart means you get it right first try. If you're dumb you have to think lots. So Fae's the smartest!'     Lilian tries to think of a way to explain how that's wrong, fails, and frowns about it. "Hmm, but if you don't think very much for too long, you might end up getting dumb. Like how if you don't get any exercise, you get slow and short of breath. So be careful Fae."     'There's a lot of things. No-one cares much about nobility here...'     "Well I wouldn't necessarily say that . . ." Lilian mumbles, hovering over her sugary slop drink closely enough to actually drain it down awkwardly.     people make incredible things without using magic at all...'     "And it's not as if that's particularly special." she, going back back to mumbling anyways. "If you have magic, why wouldn't you use it? It's not as if they found a better way because they're smarter or something; they just found a different way because they never had magic to begin with. I mean, certainly, a plane is impressive, but nobody can teleport or heal wounds like Lucius, or change the weather like Niime."     'It seems like you can make friends anywhere, but neighbors don't know each other as well. How's that?'     "They don't need each other." Lilian says. She's back to a normal volume, but her tone and expression are both oddly pensive. "And it's too easy to find people who are already like you, far away, so they don't bother to get to know people who might disagree with a little, close by."     'I... keep telling you, I don't know. I'm sorry, Fae.'     'Mmmm... Fae can be patient.'     For the dozenth time, Lilian lapses into quiet consideration about how she'd handle being in Igrene's shoes. She can't help but stare, a little mournfully, while she thinks about it. Even if she hypothetically gave Fae what she wanted, the absolute limit of her magic would only be enough to grow up one year per year on a human timescale; and then what? Could she stomach shaving hundreds of years off someone's lifespan even if they asked? Would anyone be any happier? Would she come to resent her when she's older?     In a way, isn't it best that Igrene is powerless to change anything?     'Nothing.'     Lilian's instincts are good enough to interrupt her from that alone. Cooling down and relaxing again, she says to Ruger, mysteriously, "Give it a few years. It'll wear off." and adds "With any luck." a bit darkly.     'but if I could forsake that station forever... if I could lose myself among all the worlds...'     "I see. So you were jealous." Lilian says. She's still thinking about Clarine's 'the end of your noble line?!' response.     'Maybe he's finding new portal routes every time, but...'     "I don't get that impression." Lilian says, shaking her head. She drains the last of the abomination she's willing to drink, and then flicks it blind into a trash can. "Being a brilliant strategist doesn't mean being a paranoid freak, nor does it mean being omniscient. There's no reason for the still-winning side to be going to that sort of trouble. I'd--"
Lilian Rook	She pauses, looking up at Cecilia's gasp. She can't see from her seat, but she has an idea of what it must be for, even before she says so. Lilian skips past 'seriously?' and wraps back around into standing up as if only intending to go to the bathroom, smoothly opening her bag to search for one or two personal items, no doubt.     Don't just rush to look over. That's the most amateur thing to do. "Because he's a professional." Lilian murmurs to Petra, withdrawing Winter Crow from her bag and holstering it at her side under her sweater. Her heart thuds steadily up against her ribs even so. No matter how long this war goes on, Lilian still can't want to kill anyone; the comfortable, modern surroundings only intensify this feeling, not lessen it. Even if Cecilia is only here to track them, are they really going to start that here?     The choice is rendered moot in short order anyways. The moment Gebura catches that dagger, Lilian is already slinging her purse over her shoulder and scrambling over the railing, partway through a string of "--shit shit fuck fuck bastard fuck shit--" when the first screams ring out. Her casual boots aren't really rated for her rate of descent, but she takes the long drop down for speed, tossing her contacts fast enough to hurt her eyes and shifting her pin to let her hair down just before hitting a first floor store awning.     "Paladins Chevalier! This area is not safe! All civilians must clear the area immediately! I repeat, clear the area immediately! A Paladins crisis response team is handling an insurgent action! Don't attempt to retrieve anything, and don't take cover in the area! Evacuate immediately!"     Lilian shouts out to the crowd in tandem with Flamel's mass mental broadcast, amplifying her voice with magic to her throat as she's done before. As much as she wishes she might have specific directions to give, she doesn't, and as much as she'd like to tell people to leave in an orderly fashion, they can't. The best she can do is bet that some small fraction of the crowd knows her face and a bigger portion trusts the Paladins.     §Aaaaa god I can't shoot in here! The sightlines are too open and there's nothing to stop stray fire! They're bunched up enough for magic, but that's an even bigger risk! There's no guarantee that some idiots didn't freeze in place and hide behind a countertop; I really can't stand civilians sometimes! The crates? Can I get away with starting a fire in here? No-- there are automatic fire suppression systems for sure. Anything with enough punch to destroy their stockpile will send shrapnel everywhere too-- fuck!§     Vaulting down from the awning, Lilian draws and unglamers Night Mist with her free hand before landing, Lycian sheath clatttering away under a standing sign. Pushed on by frantic energy more than a solid strategy, she scans Murdoch out of the crowd, locks on and blinks into range to try and take his sword arm right from the outset.
Marigold	Lucius's staves are much easier to get through security than a sword: he breaks from his conversation with Odette with a crisp "Yes, but-- very sorry!!", warps down to ground level behind Galle, and tries to tap the now-unarmed general with sleep magic immediately. Galle weaves around it and decks him in the face.      It would've been nice, anyway.      Gebura plunges at him as he turns back. "Melady?" is his first response to a scary red woman plunging at him from above. He should sidestep- but Lucius, still sprawled on the floor, strikes Galle in the back with a small bolt of light to stagger him into the massive blow. Two crunches: one as the blade hits him, and another as his body hits the ground. For a second it seems like Galle might not get back up.      Roy's frozen when Madeleine looks at him. Starting a fight here is really, really bad.      "At this point we're temporarily giving up on finding their warpgate route and just going for gold, right?"      Cecilia is equally shocked by narrowly avoiding face impalement, but she's used to giving orders while shocked. "Y-- yes! Kill him! Kill him!"      Rutger doesn't need to be told to ditch Clarine twice. She leaps the railing and skips down the next two, only just behind Petra, then lunges for the Bernish airport-tram's wooden crates to find a sword. One of the soldiers has gotten a knife first; they tangle, until Nobunaga clips him- and Masked Knight Sekva shoots him again, with a borrowed rifle. She sighs as Rutger shoves the bleeding soldier to the ground.      Fae tries to follow- the ice slide looks fun!!- only for Igrene to halt her by grabbing her cape. "But--!" "Absolutely not!"
Marigold	General Murdoch may not be a paragon of martial skill, but he's still a big guy- more a Douglas than a Hector- and the way he staggers rather than collapsing when shot by Petra is enough to show how armored he is under that jacket. Grabbing a heavy battleaxe by virtue of his position near the tram's fore, he shoves its terrified airport-employee driver to the ground safely and then tips the whole thing over to serve as cover against long-distance fire. Weapons spill across the ground; men disarmed by Ace's fire re-arm themselves.      "EVERYONE ON ME! Spearmen, loose square, single!" he barks through the brain-fogging confusion, hacking at Audrey's floor-tile column to free its prisoner. He sounds like he's commanding a thousand men rather than eight; with a quick glance down the long twisting hallway to the warpgate, he's decided full flight would be disastrous. "Jordan, center! Get Marr up! Tight retreat!"      The soldiers snap to his commands more decisively than their own judgement would let them move; his voice is drilled-in enough to pierce the haze. In the tipped-over tram's shadow they're hard to pick off from far away for anyone without Ace's vantage; up close, the spearmen form a bristling ring around a healer and a fireball-slinging mage who tries to torch the upper cafe level. Cecilia has to rebuff him with her wind magic, and then slices up the tram with it, but that only turns cover into slightly softer cover.      Murdoch is the formation's weak link, standing behind it. Lilian visibly startles him- "Ah...?!- but her blade just embeds in the armor under his jacket, rather than maiming his axe-toting arm. He drops the weapon to his other hand and swings to ward her off.      "So this is Lord Roy's acumen," the tall, tired man breathes once he gets a moment's distance. His free hand thumbs a small, dark device that doesn't look Elibe-local. Galle always has a survivor's fire; Murdoch, by contrast, looks utterly square that he might die today. "I've heard so much about you, but an ambush even here... to think he'd--"
Marigold	Everything is going as well as could be expected for a fight in a warpgate hub- that is, incredibly poorly, with screams spreading to a steady echoing collective wail, but at least Odette and Flamel have created an expanding evacuation halo that's relatively civilian-free- until the dragon shows up.      There was an eighth caravan guard. It would've been impossible to make out the one nondescript man with a fist-sized crystal inside his loose clothes. Riku, approaching Murdoch, is halted in his tracks as a man rips apart into a house-sized silhouette before him; crimson scales, dull eyes, horrible ripping teeth and teeth...      It shreds one claw down the balconies of the two stories above and slams it into him, trying to pin him to the ground as its throat glows with a premonition of fiery breath. All stories above the ground rumble and tilt slightly from the impact, spilling drinks and toppling tables; automated alarms blare throughout the hub, maybe tuned for earthquakes. "No! Stop, what are you doing?!" Murdoch turns to bark, but that's the one soldier that won't listen to his orders.      After several seconds, Galle picks himself up from the floor and grabs a shattered-and-messily-repaired spear from the ground. Maltet was broken to pieces, and the clumsy re-hafting with wood and iron looks blasphemous, but the snowflake blade is unmistakeable. That might be the only dragon-slaying weapon here, and he won't be pointing it where you'd like.      "Dirty play," he breathes in Gebura's direction, but he's not enough of a crybaby for that to stop him whipcrack-blendering that leather-tethered spear at her. Getting at him while he can't fly might be the only thing to make him sour.
Riku Asakura	Ultraman Geed is compressed underneath the giant claw of the house-sized beast that emerged as part of Murdoch's retinue. Groaning underneath the claw, he is forced to take drastic measures of his own.  That is to say, he starts growing the claw pressing down on his chest rather than the entirety of him, as he matches the house-sized dragon that happens to be a part of the soldiers brought that day.   Ultraman Geed attempts to reach up for the neck of the creature, attempting to pull himself back up and out of the claw of the creature and force him on the back foot.  Even as sparks rain down from where the foot scrapes across his chest, causing more damage as the struggle goes on.   Once at the throat, he attempts to slam his hands on the Dragon's mouth to prevent the breath weapon.  Further using his strength, he also attempts to push the mouth upward.  trying to make sure the breath, if it does fire, goes up instead of into the crowd of people.   "Stop! That's going to put people in danger!" he shouts at the dragon, but likely won't get a reasonable response.  Instead, Geed is now in a struggle with the dragon, doing everything he can to keep the breath aimed away from people, or to prevent it entirely.
Nobunaga	> "Absolutely not!"     The distinct sound of a Mother, by station if not by blood, prompts Nobunaga to close her eyes with a wistful look on her face for just the briefest of moments. Fae truly is a lucky creature to have people who care about her so much, and the Demon King is no different. Her upraised hand gestures back and beckons. From behind a trash can steps one of her soldiers; a nondescript Nobbu in a little white suit.     "Help Igrene keep the little one out of trouble for me," Nobunaga commands.     Nobu! the familiar snaps a stubby-armed salute. With a little *pip* noise from every step, it bounds over to Fae and Igrene. When it stops, it waves its arms frantically in a 'follow me!' sort of gesture, Nobu! No nobu!     She'll trust that's handled, pivoting her attention back to Murdoch and his troops just in time for one of them to transform into a red dragon.     "Oh."     The look of surprise is quickly lost in the dust and debris of her little perch getting annihilated by a giant monster. Rifles scatter, having no wielders, and promptly disappear in flashes of golden sparks. The dust settles. The wyrm goes after Ultraman. That gives Nobunaga a chance to unbury herself and get back up. For the mad grin on her face, it's not clear if she's registering her injuries at all. Flame flickers off her eyelashes as she storms to the smashed-in ledge.     "No god, nor demon, nor any other living creature shall stand in my way..."     There's a leap, clearing the ledge and bringing herself down right in the middle of it, feet-first. On landing, the ground bursts into flames, erupting and spreading outward rapidly. Polished architecture is replaced by flaming ruin and blackened stone and steel. An immolated warzone. It becomes quickly clear that she isn't incinerating the hub but rather overlaying a separate reality on top of it; a version of the Hub engulfed in flames from some unknown, hellish cataclysm.     Which sort of also means that bashing the crap out of this place won't translate to the 'real' one unless it reaches the visible edge of the overlaid reality marble. Nobunaga raises her right hand, raising a jet of flames as a wall around the space she's enclosed.     "And none shall escape me, for I am the Demon King of the Sixth Heaven!"
Lilian Rook	The sight of Galle makes Lilian sick. The man she has felt compelled to reach out to, over and over again, who keeps almost making the right decision, and then commits to being doomed once again. Of course it'd be him. Who else's fault? Everything could have been normal if not for him; and yet here he is, hesitating at the mere glimpse of a possibility at seeing Melady.     But punching Lucius like that makes her feel a little less complicated about him.     'Ah...?!'     §Shit. Why didn't I assume he'd wear armour? Just because Galle isn't? Get your head together!§     For the moment they lock eyes, what Lilian is thinking is as plain as Murdoch's surprise. Panning up to his neck, she has the regretful look of a wolf that just let a rabbit run away. She wrenches Night Mist free of the now-archetypically massive Bernish plate she can feel under the coat, and leaps back under the axe swing, so low that it's a wonder she doesn't fall. Getting another haft-length from the general, she stops herself with a low center of gravity, hilt at her hip and sword-point touching the ground, weight poised forward.     'So this is Lord Roy's acumen, I've heard so much about you, but an ambush even here...'     "Blame him." she says, glancing aside to Galle only for an instant. It was clearly too much to hope that Gebura would take him out in one blow.     §Even with Maltet, he's slightly worse off without his wyvern than I am without magic. If he's already wounded, then . . . What? What exactly am I planning to do? Even if I hesitate, even of Roy doesn't want to, Cecilia will kill him, and I have no reason to stop her.§     Lilian rocks subtly forward, grip on her weapon tightening, making up her mind to displace one of the spears now surrounding Murdoch upwards and lunge into the gap. The tip of her sword has only just twitched when the ground rubles, and her heels clack on tile three yards back.     'No! Stop, what are you doing?!'     Her ability to be sympathetic to Murdoch is sharply curtailed at the moment. If it's just going to brawl with Riku, that's one thing, but the memory of that burning villa comes back to her; the way her skin screamed, her sweat boiled, and air seemed to vanish in her lungs.     "What dragons do." Lilian snaps back.     'Dirty play'     "Should've killed you. Melady's smile isn't worth this."     'Stop! That's going to put people in danger!'     §Catastrophic. The travel lanes will channel it three times as far in both directions. The upper levels will melt and collapse. Toxic fumes, overwhelmed fire systems, smoke indoors, unsurvivable heat, and too many civilians to rescue. Fuck you Murdoch; what did you think Zephiel used these things for?§     Lilian feints to lunge towards Galle, then kicks off perpendicular and skips in the dragon's direction. The roofs of the first floor shopping give her something to accelerate with along the way, and the overhead ceiling forces the dragon to stay grounded, so its neck is comfortably in reach of a strike at near-maximum speed; for the first time. Storefront glass shatters beneath the crumpled-in rooftop behind her. "--Tormáil in Aghaidh na Haille!" blends with the aggregate noise of exploding windows and the unncanny sound of clifftop thunder.
Lilian Rook	Having to sacrifice Riku's safety, Lilian strikes at the dragon's throat while he has it occupied. The movement that should carry her right across to the ceiling is aimed so directly that she has to improvisationally adjust course to land after making contact, but without the luxury of aiming at the trachea without potentially coming short of the esophagus, Lilian has to accept a less than fatal blow under perfect conditions anyways. Catching herself against the side of a balcony, she swears as one of her shoes breaks and falls loose. The ends of her sleeves have caught fire already.     "Prioritize that thing at all costs! We can't afford it going on a rampage here!" Lilian calls out. "We're too lightly prepared to ignore it!"
Madeleine Cadrasteia	All hell breaks loose as the pitched battle begins in earnest. As the Bernish soldiers pull into formation, Madeleine is left with a decision to make. She hesitates, lurking among her ice pillars for a moment as she weighs her options. Flamel's demanding an opening on Murdoch, there's a *dragon* now, and Galle is already trying to clear space with Maltet-     The pieces fall into place in Maddie's head. There's only one way she sees this turning out okay. And it's going to hurt.     She dashes in Galle's direction, calling out to distract him from Gebura: "Hey, flyboy!" It's a crude attempt, and technically a worse move in itself than not letting him know she's interfering in his duel with the Red Mist, but she's hoping to split his attention even a little.     As Galle whips his spear in its great scything arcs, Madeleine relies on her decoy technique to protect herself - each time Maltet passes by her, crude replicas (complete with dorky zookeeper outfit) take her place as she leaps over and ducks under the swings, slowly pressing into Galle's real threat zone. One decoy is cut through like butter, two, three...     Galle's next strike, delivered (or so Madeleine hopes) almost as a formality, catches her just under the ribcage as she stops in place to grab hold of the weapon's shaft with both hands. She coughs, gurgles out a pained "Now..." to Gebura, coughs again - bloody this time - and is swept away as Galle adjusts for the sudden stop. But there's a woman stuck to his spear now, heavy enough to make his swings just a bit clumsier and actively putting herself between Gebura and Maltet's edge. She isn't letting go, maybe even if it kills her...
Audrey Basque	"Y-- yes! Kill him! Kill him!"     Well. It's war. Why would it be anything else?     At least, it'll be someone else working on that. <J-IC-Scene> Madeleine Cadrasteia says, "The only dragon-slaying weapon here is in Galle's hands..."     I-It is?     Audrey's eyes can barely keep a lock onto the blur that is Galle engaging Gebura. She wants to suggest-- if Gebura could lure Galle into a committed thrust, maybe she could... shunt him and the spear at the dragon? It'd be a gamble, and she's not fast enough to guarantee anything. <J-IC-Scene> Audrey Basque says, "He's got a healer supporting his men-- I'm going to try to split them up and make an opening for someone else to pin the healer down."     What she IS fast enough to guarantee is dealing with that support backline. It means avoiding fireballs-- flames licking the edges of her shield, singing her clothes despite the protection. Debris falling from the dragon's sudden appearance, caught in the orbit of her distortion. None of it reflected; her focus is on the healer now, surrounded by those spearmen.     She pinches her fingers towards them, bringing her hands together and then splitting them with a sudden yank. The floor under the ring of spearmen suddenly stretches like a massive 360 degrees conveyor belt, trying to put as many feet between them and their healer as possible. Unlike before, she's not creating more space-- that'd prevent her allies from reaching the healer too. She's just causing the floor to shuffle outward and move, dragging the spearmen away like a flat, solid current of water.     It might also trip them up!     And mess their formation up.     And keep them from interfering with dragon-slaying.
Odette Raskins	Fighting aside, people are actually cooperating! That's a reliable way to get Odette feeling pretty good about herself, but only for a few seconds before she sees the rest of the fight going on. The fireball reaching the upper level has the disguised EMT freaking out due to the aforementioned fire along with the non-zero chance that there might be some highly flammable alcohol nearby. That proves to be small beans compared to what comes next, of course. While Odette's in the middle of trying to ward off those still too stubborn to leave between her, Flamel's, and Lilian's warnings, a dragon starts tearing things up behind her. Without even looking back, she just points at the far end of the terminal. "GO!" She shouts, grabbing someone's phone and frisbee-flinging it far away just to force them to have to run back and forth a lot if they REALLY want to record what's going on. That still leaves the issue of the dragon and the Bernish troops. Does she even have anything that would help besides medicating her allies? Perhaps nothing to help with the dragon, but Flamel calling for aid getting into Murdoch's head does give her some ideas. Odette feels around inside her carrying case as she takes the steps two at a time to get off that upper level onto the middle level,  cursing a few times as she feels the 'wrong' bottles for the situation at hand. "Maybe tear..? No, we need to breathe. Or the grea-no. Can't afford any of ours slipping... Come on, come on... Sleeping gas? No, then the dragon's..." Struggling with ideas for a while, Odette lets out a startled yelp as the dragon's claws ripping through the balconies unbalances the entire section of floor she's on. She starts sliding down the makeshift ramp that the middle floor around her has become, catching herself on a railing at the last moment with a painful grunt at getting forcefully wrapped around a railing thanks to gravity and spilled drinks speeding up her descent. At least she's just covered in soda rather than grease or something flammable. As she sees Geed wrestling with the dragon, however, Odette gets one whole idea! She pulls herself up onto the damaged railing while trying to ignore the aching pain in her midsection, then takes several glass jars full of a greasy fuel mixture out of her bag. Keeping one hand against the floor and railing to steady herself, she starts whipping the jars at Murdoch's gathered troops, aiming for the center of the formation in the hopes of breaking the jars against them to douse them in the foul-smelling contents. "I-if you don't want to get fried by even a little spark from that dragon, th.. Then throw down your weapons and get out of here!"
Angela	Gebura isn't raised in a world that says to give people recovery time. If you want them alive, you go for a decapitation and save the head and take it to a life insurance outlet. If you want them dead, cleave them vertically. Nowhere in the City except for the Library can someone come back with a destroyed brain and even then, they had to have been tied to the books first. Gebura doesn't exactly know how it works because nobody's killed an Agent of the Library yet. Gebura was raised to slice until there was nothing left but a red mist. They named her after it! She thinks, though, about how not so long ago--getting help from Lucius would've annoyed her. What, she'd have thought, am I not enough? Still not good enough to be relied upon? But she's more comfortable with teamwork these days. She'll give Lucius gratitude when the day's done. Don't have long chats when there's still killing to do. Gebura isn't convinced Galle is dead but a dragon suddenly appearing is enough of a big deal that she glances over. Fixers fight people as well as monsters, though, so she doesn't feel compelled to stop a dragon. She doesn't have a magic dragon killing sword and Roland has his own Durandal, he should do it, is her logic. It doesn't occur to her that Roland's Durandal isn't a magic dragon killing sword, it has the same name and he's also named Roland, if it doesn't work it means he's not trying hard enough. She knows he's been holding back. MEANWHILE Roland is with Fae and Igrene. He feels a strong urge to protect the cute dragon, though he doubts that an army trying to escape is going to launch arrows or spears at the children not trying to kill them, but it still feels deeply wrong for him to just leave her alone. He has to struggle with this thought a bit. It's illogical but... The formation is tightening, Roland sees, there's no way he's going to be able to pick out a soldier, take them out, and impersonate them to go for the kill on Murdoch right? He scans the crowd. He just needs someone who won't be missed. Then at the very least he'll be able to send word to everyone else about where they're headed next and a followup assault without it being a civilian hub can happen. He doesn't like this. Nor does he like the sudden appearance of a dragon but ... nah. He knows what happens when he dies now. He turns into a book. Dragons breathe fire. No thank you. While he's confident in his abilities there's enough going on that he doesn't need to take a risk. No, he thinks, the best thing he can do that's not staying with Fae is to-- Murdoch has a device, Roland summons his rifle into his hand and then reaches into his coat pocket and draws out a lollypop. He offers it to Fae, "Paying you in advance to be a good girl for Igrene okay?" He winks before fading into shadow. Whatever it is, he hasn't activated it yet. That means he's considering that it might not be neccessary, that there's a prerequisite to use it properly, or there's a cost. Maybe the range won't get his entire contingent yet? Maybe it won't reach Galle who just got clobbered? He's not sure, though a General wouldn't stick around this situation with a dragon he didn't expect for long would he? There isn't a lot of shadow to work with in this airport, so Roland instead takes the role of a panicked civilian trying to run. Even if he can't get that device out of his hand in time, if he can get a long enough look... But the ideal would be to get it to Petra's hands. She's a tinkerer. She can figure it out. Rather than picking a fight, he aims to try and run past the fighting. AND THEN Gebura only looks away for a second. She raises her sword. She isn't a Paladin.
Angela	''Melady's smile isn't worth this.'' Lilian says to prioritize the dragon, of course, but Gebura doesn't shift from her task. Angela's been clear on her orders for her first engagement. Nevertheless, Galle recovers long enough to strike at her with his own spear. She twists her body, but Galle has enough skill to scrape that blade against her EGO armor, leaving a thick scar on its front side. "Let you get up didn't I? You used that to nearly kill the kid," She means Roy. "Let's call it even." She slides a foot back, "Glad we're in an airport, i'll make sure you get a good view of the sky one last time." There's a feint going on. Lilian is the one person she can imagine feinting in a way that might actually put Galle on guard so Mimicry is lashing out as soon as Lilian performs that little swerve-- But Madeleine is up to something. She's up to getting stabbed, apparently. That's a weird technique-- --Gebura sees how poorly the shaft is welded together-- Aha, Gebura thinks, shifting Mimicry's swipe to aim for that battered shaft. The flesh of Mimicry shifts as it attempts to engulf that glowing blade and pry it free from Galle with the follow through of her swing. Madeleine might get hit by some of the blacklash but, well, she already got stabbed in the ribcage so it's probably fine.
Flamel Parsons	A dead sprint. Flamel is breaking forward as fast as he can, The eighth guard sends rubble tumbling, and Flamel endures it, rushing forward. The spearmen are a tough defense, and even invisible, Flamel can't move through all this dust and violence without kicking up enough sign of his own passage that he risks getting run through by those spearmen.     "That brain, *that mind*-- If we get even half, a *quarter* of that data, this *whole war* is over, I *need a shot at that mind*, this is the only chance I'm gonna get!" He rants under his breath, eyes wide behind the sunglasses and fists trembling as he clenches them. If he opened fire, he'd just be exchanging shots with the mage until Murdoch got away. If he gives Murdoch too much space to breathe, he'll figure out a way through the attempts to cut off his escape -- brute-force healing through the fire? Can the mage control that fire as well? He knows the man will figure something out.     He's lived this long. His intelligence has been what kept him going, his clever ability to out-think these situations. Can Flamel really hope to outmatch him in tactics? The agent has mind powers and a little academic acumen, but he's not a genius, and not even especially smart in tactics. But he is one thing very, very much right now: Deeply, deeply obsessed.     That data could win the war. He needs it.     Audrey's twisting hallway buys precious minutes, Nobunaga's fire maybe a little more, but can Flamel *do* anything with that? Lilian can get close, but she can't do what Flamel can. The giant can stall the dragon, but can't save the people around here, and they draw the attention from the others. Gebura could cut a path, but Galle's got her locked in a duel. Geats and Na-Go are keeping the soldiers limited, but their focus is tight on that. Madeleine might have some options -- are there any? Odette...     A flash of memory rises in his mind. Roy, torn apart, past clinical death, with Flamel's faith in Odette's ability to revive him. A sacrifice for the good of the cause, made out of necessity. A choice made by Flamel.     "Sorry, Lilian." He whispers under his breath. "I just can't pass that mind up." Gritting his teeth, he makes an incredibly, incredibly bad choice: Disabling much of his instinctive self-preservation instinct directly, he flicks into invisibility and charges Murdoch's formation. He can't beat the man mentally for the same reason he couldn't beat Rutger physically: The geniuses of this world are too tough for psychics to come out on top by default. But, more than anything, right now, Flamel *wants this more*. He tries to cast out mental images of being impaled and blasted with fire and other things like that, to focus on closing on Murdoch.     His brain's primed. If he takes a lethal hit, his telekinesis is going to keep him going. And if his telekinesis can't keep him going, then his telepathy might. As long as he hasn't experienced brain-death, Odette Raskins can probably get him back into the land of the living, and his telepathy can desperately try to get a lock on Murdoch.     The man himself can surely feel the mental lock-on, like a radar ping from an enemy aircraft. Flamel's brute-force astral breach comes down like a thousand pounds of force on the cunning mind. Flamel expects defenses, training, focus, even some determination from the man who looks like he might die. But with this volume of astral impact, Flamel has to get *something* out of that brain, some chunk of psychic data, some pile of astral documents to sift through, something to turn this tide of war. This is a chance he just can't afford to miss.     He armors up in consecutive shielding layers first, though. Given that Galle could slam a spear-head through his brain at near-sonic speeds any moment and render this whole stupid effort moot, and all.
Desire Stars	Up here it's easier to aim, but even here I only have so much room and I'm running it out by the second. If they make it to that hallway... <J-IC-Scene> Audrey Basque says, "He's got a healer supporting his men-- I'm going to try to split them up and make an opening for someone else to pin the healer down." <J-IC-Scene> Ace Ukiyo as Kamen Rider Geats, says, "Okay. I'll keep an eye over there."     The prospect of fighting a spear unit under a seasoned strategist in a hallway doesn't fill Geats with joy; neither do the projectiles flying upwards from the sorcerers or the maw of the dragon as he zips past Ultraman mid-clinch. An errant fireball blasts tiles from the ceiling, causing a pothole that trips the Kamen Rider up. The momentary stumble and reduction of forward momentum loses him the advantage of the ceiling when there's still some to be had.     "Not yet...!"                                   BOOSTRIKER!                                       Beneath the plummeting Geats, yet above the roofs of the enclosed spaces within the former airport, a pillar of blue light erupts, voxels dispersed forcefully by a self-driving motorcycle that rises up on jets of flame to meet him. Just as its momentum seems to die, the bike, coaxed by a rev on the Boost Buckle, shifts and reconfigures its frame into a giant mechanized fox. Letting out a shrill cry as Geats lands nimbly atop it, its footfalls leave wisps of flame in its wake, carrying him the final stretch. From his steady footing on the back of the Boostriker, Geats extends the frame of his laser pistol, transforming the bulky Magnum Shooter into its RIFLE configuration.     "Alright, Audrey. Let's see it."     As startled spearmen are suddenly swept aside, Geats shoulders the rifle, peering through the scope for just the blink of an eye, snaps the crosshairs over the healer's implement and holds the trigger down.                              MAGNUM TACTICAL SHOOT!                                 A thin tracer line of red gently blinks onto the healer's 'weapon,' before a pillar of searing light spears explosively through it.     Meanwhile, on the ground... <J-IC-Scene> Roland says, "Hey think that thing the General's got might have something to do with how they've been moving around. Bet Petra could figure it out if she gets a looksee."     "Got it!"     Na-Go takes to the air with the help of the Armed Propeller buckle, one hand on the weapon-slash-flight-method and one on the bladed Beat Axe. Holding down the frets of the Axe with her fingers, she kicks her heel outwards to strum it and prepare and attack, hefting it overhead and swinging it at the fleeing general while Audrey's opening is still fresh on the minds of his troops.     Rather--                                    ROCK ICE!                                         She doesn't fling it at him, but at where he's headed, hoping to cut him off before he can reach that hallway and earn the people directly engaged with him a bit more time to close in.
Marigold	The dragon rains glass from the airport-hub's ceiling with the shattering swish of its tail and drowns out the klaxons and receding screams both with its shriek. It's just about to blowtorch Riku and most of the airport when he grows and wrestles its head upwards, turning the jet into a continuous skyward geyser- incidentally pointed at Ace- that spills back down as embers and molten metal.      Its eyes are fire. (So are its wings, and its spine.) Riku can't see any understanding or sympathy in them. R     Is that because it's a soulless replica? Or is it a faithful replica of something soulless to begin with? No time to wonder.      It wedges a claw between Ultraman's arms and its neck, starting to scrape at his body and pry him away so it can direct the flame-jet back down. The members of Roy's army still on the higher levels scramble to safety. Clarine races down the stairs, holding a bleeding Lugh by the arm. At least within Nobunaga's hell-arena bubble, it's no longer drizzling slag from melting ceiling girders.      "What dragons do."      Murdoch breathes tightly through his teeth as he watches the unfolding catastrophe. He doesn't care to rebut Lilian. He doesn't care to fight his own dragon either.      "... Jordan, your warp staff!" he barks instead. "Karl, shield up, cover him! Galle, get back, we're lost here! This isn't a stand!" The healer- the one that Audrey exposes, a few moments later- shuts his eyes and radiates a circle of light from his staff, in a slower version of the technique Lucius has used. It's one way to escape...      Galle isn't listening, or doesn't think he can make it. His eyes widen- rage, shock, adrenaline, all three?- when he tries to pull Maltet from Madeleine's lungs and finds the snowflake-blade stuck. His eyes snap to Gebura too late to mount a defense; he spends his last second with the legendary weapon twisting it in Maddie's organs, and then Mimicry- with a guttering flash of chilly magic- shatters it for the second time. It's easier than the first.      The salvaged 'divine' part of Maltet is the head, still stuck below Maddie's ribs. The haft is nothing but a wreckage of iron and wood. But Galle understands something: if you break a spear in half, you still have a shorter, worse spear.      "Let you get up didn't I? You used that to nearly kill the kid..."      As Gebura recovers from that massive cleave, he kicks Maddie away, lunges towards the Red Mist, grabs her shoulder, and tries to drive the sharp-broken haft through her neck with all his might. "Nearly," Galle says, and it's amazing how cool his voice can be while every ligament in his body strains.      Just before the dragon's breath can wrestle its angle down far enough to torch through the airport's upper levels, Lilian slices its neck. She has just the right angle and just the right force to pierce its esophagus; fire vents from the wound in its throat, scorching the floor with less force, and the inferno in its mouth dies out.      The shriek that follows is raspy-distorted; it 'shoulder'-checks Riku into the airport's upper stories, crunching them again, and resorts to rampaging with its teeth and claws now that it's deprived of its greatest weapon.
Marigold	Up there with Igrene, Nobunaga's minion, and Roland, Fae balls her hands into little fists and makes a pleading face while concrete dust showers from the ceiling and the floor cracks. "Please! Fae wants to fight the bad dragon! Fae can do it...!" "Fae-- that's an adult. You're a child," Igrene says sharply, hand over Fae's dragonstone to stop her from fully taking it. "But...!" "Last time in the desert you got hurt! I won't allow it again!" "... Fae isn't more important than humans. Grandpa says so. Humans are getting hurt. Let Fae get hurt, too!" "Well when you're grown that'll be your choice to make."      Murdoch gets that threat-ping, but he's not so fast as to intercept it; he instinctively grasps for an invisible Flamel, seizes him by the arm, and tries to strike him down with his axe. "Marr--!! Grigori! On me!!" By then, Flamel's already seen-- Lugh's twin, Raigh, working 'dutifully' in the Ilian capital. Murdoch has suspicions of the boy's loyalty; nothing voiced. Some pitiful resistance movement based around the Lady Juno of Edessa. He mentally dismisses it. Saving the life of Zephiel's father, who became a monster. Saving Zephiel's, who did the same. Murdoch seems cursed to bring no good to the world. 'That woman', the ancient dragon Zephiel found- Murdoch resents her hold on the king. She stays in the old stone temple by the lake, near--      Then the spearmen are striking him, and Murdoch is hurling him aside. "What in heaven was...?" he murmurs, trying to regain his wits with a hand on his forehead.      In the hubbub, he's dropped that device that he'd been clutching. Roland can see it clearly. It's a handheld radio. Murdoch's thumb had been holding down the button, until just a second ago.      "... doch? Khh," the voice of a middle-aged woman says, on the other end of the line. A few people might recognize it. "Don't be dead, or they'll dock my pay."      Ace's shot flies true through Audrey's bent space, shattering the healer's staff and disrupting the warp spell. "No! Gh-- Galle! Their healer; take his!" he shouts, meaning Lucius, but Galle's still locked in mortal struggle. Left with no alternative, Murdoch motions his men to move towards the nearest warpgate and trusts his mage to get them through the flame wall- not their destination, still Audrey-spacewarped; just anywhere but here.      The odds of the Lycian League prevailing drastically go up with that shot.      They drastically go down again when an unfamiliar figure with a familiar voice steps through a different warpgate, behind the fight. In one of her hands is a cavalry saber; in the other is a simple spear; a pegasus walks beside her, and a dozen other pegasus knights in that unusual black dress- doesn't white blend in better, in Ilia- filter through behind her.      She smirks knowingly at Galle, and arches her eyebrows aloofly at the still-rampaging dragon, but for some reason it's Lugh who's third to catch her eye from across the flaming havoc. She points her spear at him. "You!" "M-me?!" "I knew you were with them, you brat!" Oh, no.
Madeleine Cadrasteia	Madeleine realizes she didn't really think this far ahead as she staggers back from Galle's kick, blood spilling down her abdomen. What's more, now she has to get Maltet's pronged head *out of her body* before it's remotely usable. She calls out to Odette for aid, clutching at her belly, doing her best to ignore the pain.     It helps that she's *really good* at ignoring pain, or at least forcing herself through it. The blood pooling on the floor in her wake disappears quickly - sinking through the cracked floor? No, it's just... going away, as her spirit asserts that nothing happening today can hurt her more than she has already *been* hurt. The supernatural regeneration just might be enough to keep her alive, if Odette can get that blade out of her gut...
Riku Asakura	There is nothing in those eyes except for those of a beast.  He's seen those eyes in beasts that had attacked his city before, devoid of humanity and ever hungry for the destruction of anything not themselves.  Lilian's blade cuts closer to his arms than he'd like to admit, but it didn't hit him; instead, it cut the dragon's neck, causing the flame to fly back.   Geed goes flying back from the claw strike from the dragon.  He hits the balcony but catches himself halfway through the strike.  It hurts; there are sparks from the strike hitting, but it looks like it could have hurt a whole lot more if not for quick thinking on Riku's part with a barrier.  His hands fall to his sides as he drops the barrier, only to pull them back up.   Word comes about the new forces arriving on the scene: the Pegasus general is coming.  They have to put this dragon down, and quickly.  Geed surges with energy and releases a roar as red and black energy courses through his body.  He leaps forward, aiming to close the distance between him and the giant dragon.   Then, at point-blank range, he fires a beam from his arms, which makes the shape of a T, aiming to drive that energy through the chest of the dragon and put an end to his destructive advance.  The energy will cause an explosion, aiming to erupt inside the creature.
Odette Raskins	Odette can breathe a little easier whens he sees Lilian's blade cutting through its neck, but not for long. That slice is soon followed by the upper stories of the airport getting wrecked around her, and the EMT loses her footing on the already-damaged middle floor. She manages to soften her landing just a bit by rolling sideways to spread the impact rather than taking it all on her arms, but that still knocks the wind out of her for a few painful seconds. <J-IC-Scene> Madeleine Cadrasteia coughs blood. "Odette... if you can get this out without killing me..." "M-Miss Madeleine? Oh heck, oh f-" Hissing through her teeth while she's still seeing stars, the EMT glances around a few times before locking onto Madeleine's position and noticing the obviously bad red lines on her glasses' HUD along with the also-obviously bad weapon crammed right into her gut. Wait. That's Galle's Divine Weapon, isn't it? Or the blade of it, anyway. That makes it doubly important for ODette to hurry her panicked ass over to Madeleine, sprinting directly through Galle's spear-whipping range with a handful of injectors drawn straight out of her case. She jabs one into Madeleine next to the wound to help stabilize her (and dose her with plenty of painkillers) while ducking forward, hoping desperately not to get her head cut off in the process as she scoops the regenerating woman up over her shoulder. "Hi mister Galle bye mister Galle!" She utters in rapid succession before just continuing to sprint past him with Madeleine in tow. Odette's a little rough with her handling as she deposits Madeleine onto one of the fallen tables that just happened to land properly after falling from a higher floor, then grabs hold of the embedded blade. "Grit your teeth, Miss Madeleine. Coming out on three. One, two, three!" Spending little more time than that on explanations, Odette holds the rest of the injectors between her teeth as she flicks a scalpel out of her jacket pocket, making a few quick incisions to widen the hole a little more safely before pulling the embedded weapon out.  The remaining injectors go in to pump blood-clotting agents and even more painkillers into Madeleine afterwards, and then Odette... She's not sure what to do with Maltet's blade, but she does have plenty of medicated gauze. She's using it for Madeleine's wounds, but it's pretty sticky, too!
Flamel Parsons	Flamel wrestles with Murdoch, eyes wide, flickering out of invisibility. He sees an axe slam into his body. A spray of psychic energy, a crack of metal and bone-like stone and raw flesh all giving way, and then spears pierce his body and he's tossed aside. He sees this. But he sees it through Murdoch's eyes.     He sees more than just that. He sees Raigh, he sees Juno, he sees Zephiel and his father, he sees their history. He sees that woman drenched in dark magic, and the old stone temple, and the lake in--     Losing connection. Come on. If he thinks that's the end of it, Flamel can get more. The location of the lake, the inside of the temple, everything. He plays dead -- convincingly, as it happens. His shielding bore the brunt of it, and when the weapons pierced, they didn't pierce vitals. He was willing to temporarily die if he had to, but most of what he took was from that axe. So Murdoch gets away, and might even think that he's gotten Flamel. It's easy, it's so easy, and then Odette can help him later, so it'll be--     His plan falls apart. Lugh is here, and now so is Sigrun, and not Raigh. And he left Lugh, he left Lugh behind to go focus on getting that data, he's playing dead and bleeding from shallow shielded wounds to get out of the consequences of his own obsession with this war, and he's just *waiting* there because he's so... so focused on this *data* that he's letting a child, the child he's supposed to be counseling for, take the consequences...     "No. No. No no no no NO NO NO!!" An old man with bushy white hair head storms around the Communications Department of the Parsons Institute. "SHUT IT DOWN!! Shut this fool-ass project down NOW!" He howls at weedy, spectacled mental images that operate his mental machinery. He hoists one of the thick computer monitors and slams it entirely through a particle-board desk, eyes tearing up, yelling. "You're not fit to run a CAMP, much less a WAR! GET YER HEAD ON STRAIGHT!!"     He kicks down the door of Motorics and Decisions, throwing the smashed tower of a computer onto someone's desk and pounding it with a hefty fist. "GET GOIN' BEFORE I TAKE YOU BACK OUT OF THE WORLD I PUT YA IN!!"     "THAT BOY NEEDS YOU!!"     Flamel breaks the telepathic connection. No more Murdoch data. He made a mistake, and forgot that hig vulnerable charge was here, and that any sacrifice you make is a sacrifice you demand of the people who depend on you. That's why his body flickers, vanishes -- and why it's suddenly pulled back to the rear position of the fight, interposed between Sigrun and Lugh, shielding and balled fists up. In a panic, he accidentally overplays his hand and says intel he probably shouldn't. "*LEAVE LUGH OUT OF THIS!* He's *my* student and if you try to hurt him over Raigh, or hurt Raigh over Lugh, if-- if you hurt *any of these children any more*, I'll be the one to take you out of this war, even if I have to go too!!" His voice warbles unstably, and he bleeds from the gash in his shoulder and the shallower wounds along his body. Real blood, red, not the psychic juice this time. "I won't let Bern hurt him or the people he loves again!"     Any move to approach him, any *thought* to hurt him, comes with a dozen violent strikes from those floating telekinetic hands. And for once, Flamel bypasses the main issue of a psychic in this world: The high-skill combatants move faster than thought, so telekinesis is often not useful. But this defense is pure instinct, pure moral crisis meets brainstem reflex, and it gives his movements an edge of speed that he never had in any fight before, and likely won't carry to any fight since.
Madeleine Cadrasteia	Madeleine curses in pain as Odette roughly transports her to a table outside of Galle's reach. Gritting her teeth, she's still not ready for how much it hurts to feel Maltet come back *out* after Galle twisted it up in her guts. After a deep breath she sits up and slides off the table. That *sucked*.     But. Frost spear: acquired, sort of. We can work with this. Madeleine snatches Maltet's blade from Odette's hands, pauses for a split second, then takes the bundle of gauze as well. She's the only one here with a Divine Weapon now, and she's in *so* much pain, and she *has* to make this worth it.     The huntress sets off at a superhuman run toward the rampaging dragon, not quite a full sprint - because her arms are busy. Layer after layer of gauze is rolled around Maltet's haft and the butt of her spear, tying the two together as best she can. It's not her finest work, and certainly no substitute for proper repairs, but hopefully it's enough for at least one blow.     As she nears the dragon, she calls on her own powers of ice and cold - there's too little time to figure out Maltet's beyond hoping for a fundamental affinity - and raises a staircase running along one wall. Bounding up the steps even as they begin to melt from proximity to the dragon's fires, she pauses a split second for Geed to aim his beam and then, as the creature recoils from Ultraman's attack, she leaps into the air.     Screaming from pain and effort, Madeleine arcs through the air, reorienting at the peak of her jump to point nearly straight down, spear already thrusting forward, right - if her beleaguered gut's estimation was correct - toward the rearing dragon's eye...
Nobunaga	Nobunaga has a full five seconds to look pretty cool before she gets crushed under a dragon thrashing with Ultraman. That confident posture, bloodied grim grin, and wide glowing red eyes-- only to make an undignified and indescribable noise under a giant lizard's haunches, mashed into the ash-covered floor of her own creation. Once the weight is mercifully removed over the course of the two titans' duel, the warlord scuttles away like a beetle.     Only when she's reached a relative safe distance does Nobunaga rise back to her feet, letting out pained sigh. Something's broken, she can tell that much, but all her limbs are still working and her vision isn't blurry. Good signs. She reassesses the situation, red eyes skimming the state of the battlefield. Soldiers making a run for the flame barrier she'd erected. Murdoch calling in reinforcements. A giant Ultraman and the wounded dragon.     "As natural as the sunrise," she mutters. A pair of rifles materialize in scatterings of golden sparks, carrying her aloft once she steps onto them. He cares for his men; so she'll use that.     "Murdoch!" the warlord roars. Despite her injuries, she folds her arms, lording over the flame-engulfed hellscape of her own creation. Glowing red eyes pierce into the beefy General; standing on her guns gives her the prime Looming position even with their comparative height differences.     "Their souls belong to me. Resistance shall only increase their suffering." Unfolding an arm, she sweeps from left to right. Erupting out from behind her, a series of bright gold lasers arc up, forward, and then down to carve across the ground amidst the Bernish formation. A heartbeat after slicing past, the resulting scars erupt in explosive bursts of flame. It is not just the escort guards but also the arriving Pegasus Knights and their general that she targets.     "Unless you can think of some reason they should be spared? Some offering? Some *sacrifice*?" The warlord's teeth are intermittently stained red with her own blood, adding a certain manic quality to her smile, "How shall you purchase their lives from the Demon King?"
Audrey Basque	Many things happen in quick succession.     A dragon is being fought! It is VERY DISTRACTING to someone who is not used to seeing dragons, let alone actively threatening dragons, and who is in the middle of attempting to keep casting spells.     FIRE everywhere, courtesy of Nobunaga. There's a patch around Audrey that's noticeably less warped, where it seems the effect didn't take as well. It's not impactful, except for the fact that Audrey's very presence pushes back against Nobunaga's Reality Marble even harder than the world itself does. Sorry! She can't actually control that. It's awful.     Murdoch attempts to coordinate his men! There's a plan to escape-- but Ace nails the shot and delays that. Audrey breathes a sigh of relief, up until Murdoch decides to just head ANYWHERE ELSE as a backup plan. It's a big airport hub thing! Audrey could not have warped all of it, and certainly not every direction, all at once. That's fine! She can-- she can just--     "I-I'll stop them!"     It's easy. She already has her fingers on the hub's pulse, so to speak. All she needs is to pull the right string, twist it-- that angle, not that one, run it along that line of power under her feet, and...     Get clawed in the back.     The dragon's furious rampage after having its throat slit catches Audrey unaware, largely because she'd turned to face Murdoch and his men trying to bail, and then had to do some mental math.     On the bright side: its claws lose a lot of their momentum by the time they reach her back and tear through skin and fabric like butter, thanks to that field of distorted space around her. On the not-so-bright side, that field shatters like broken class under the strain all the same, and now her back has big bloody gashes ruining both skin and her fancy black shirt.     The starry inner layer of the shirt is way more obvious now.     It's perhaps baffling that this pain DOESN'T end with her on the ground screaming. Grunting? Uncomfortable? Breathing heavily and muttering under her breath and-- sure. She doesn't look like she's having a good time at all!     Also she's in no position to stop Murdoch.     What she IS in a position to do is try to delay those pegasi from being a Problem. She recognizes that voice-- that's the harsh woman Lilian was arguing with. No, she doesn't just remember that because it was Lilian.     Shush! "I wish I could show you what it's like, but you're definitely too heavy to ride!"     That easy, right? Shanna seemed certain.     Take a deep breath. Put the pain in the back of your head. Reach-- right there, six layers down, divert the flow, feed it back to itself...     Audrey raises one arm, and then tugs something invisible down.     Sigrun and her knights are suddenly subjected to three times normal gravity! It's not just about keeping the pegasi from flying, it's about slowing them down as much as possible too. Let everyone else fight them off, or at least buy them the time they need to finish that dragon off.
Angela	''Fae wants to fight the bad dragon! Fae can do it...!'' Roland hisses between his teeth and looks back to Fae. Treats aren't gonna be enough. He just can't. r"Fae..." He says. "Fae, you know how much it hurts when someone leaves right? If you got real badly hurt, or... or died. It'll be so terrible for Igrene. Your grandpa's right, you know? Dragons aren't more important than humans, and that's why --- that's why just because you're a dragon, you shouldn't feel like you need to fight too. There's a weapon down there that's made for hurting you. And it's just as bad for parents when someone close to them ... leaves, so..." He takes a steady breath. He tries to imagine how he'd tell it to his own daughter. He tries to imagine her there, all the ways that he'd try to keep her safe from a world that can snuff it out in half a blink. "If the fight comes to you, fight with everything you've got. Tooth and nail, claw and tail. But right now you gotta keep Igrene safe. Her body and heart, okay?" But there's no more time. He has to move now and trust in Igrene's mom powers. He slinks towards the radio and picks it up. Oh. Oh no, he thinks, reinforcements. But before he can say anything about it, they're already on the way. Scratch that, they're already here. He doesn't talk over it. Instead he keeps it on hand. Entirely possible more information will come through that thing, but he takes a moment to examine the radio. Looking for maker marks. It's possible that they could just get a radio from anywhere but it's also possible they're working with some arms dealers on this side and the radio is just the tip of the iceberg. Roland doesn't want to imagine this war getting any more multiversal than it already is. That done he hides away the radio for now. Best they don't know he has it. He runs priorities in his head. Should he be thanking Na-Go for the assist, he wonders? EGgh he'll do it later. You get drinks after work, not before, especially when that work involves murder. This isn't his war, he thinks distantly, he really doesn't give a shit about Elibe but ...fuck his soft heart. Hadn't he allowed it to scab over by now? He already planned to do whatever it took, this risk isn't going to help him get closer to his goal. What's some crying kids in another world got to do with him? His kid never got to cry. His kid never got to feel lonely. Push it down. Push it down and out of sight into the inky blackness of his heart where it doesn't have to see the light of day. A rifle appears in his hands as he takes aim towards Murdoch. Yes. Just get to killing. He's a good man, a good general, unfortunately on the other side of a war working for a Wing that needs to fall. It's familiar territory. His finger tightens against the trigger---until BLAM! The rifle unleashes a burst of shells towards the General. This is just another war, Roland tells himself, you were an idiot for thinking you could escape them. You're just too useful as a killer. Dreaming of better... Dreaming of a future with family. Idiot. The City reminded you of your place. Fate reminded you of your place. Even the strongest people alive crumble to ash in your embrace.
Angela	Gebura is not as emotionally troubled, but she does swear under her breath as more backup arrives, but she doesn't get to say much else because Galle uses the time she needs to recover to jab her in the neck. It's still armored, and Galle's weapon is significantly less suited for dealing with armor, but Gebura's neck is the least armored part of her body. Even her eyes have better protection due to her helmet. She hrrrrks, blood seeping through the blow and onto her armor, though a side effect of the EGO is that it comes out burning, transmogrifying into fire and smoke even as it pours out of her. Galle can't block Mimicry with that kind of spear. No way no how, but it might not matter. It wasn't exactly ideal for blocking Mimicry even before it broke off. Now it's lighter. But that's fine. She just got shown some guts right. Time to step up. She swings once more, going for a horizontal slice. Maybe that's just a sign of her respect for Galle, rather than trying for something tricky--she fights the way that's most her. Direct and overwhelming. Mimicry erupts outwards in a thick arc around that line, teeth gnashing, blade aching, eyes screaming. She remembers Carmen. She's still loyal to her, even after her 'death'. And she's still with her, even though they can't talk. But she can't help but wonder, is Carmen really all that different from Zephiel? He loathes humanity enough to want to destroy it. She loves humanity so much... ...But she still lured so many willing people to her side, still earned her devotion... And she still wanted that paradigm shift. Are these Distortions really what she wanted? If everybody turned into one, would they still be human? Or does she love humanity so much that she's essentially eradicating it? Can there be such a thing as too much love? Carmen took away her sky and yet... Gebura cleaves all the same.
Desire Stars	Geats' DGP phone buzzes with a triumphant ringtone and an announcement: SECRET MISSION CLEAR     He doesn't dare check it, instead keeping his eyes open for the inevitable airdrop from the Grand Prix headquarters. It arrives much in the same way the Boostriker had, materializing in a column of blue-voxel light, in his path. He lowers the Magnum Shooter, drops into the saddle of the mechanized fox and catches the strongbox underhand with his right hand.     He's out of space following that called shot and has to circle back around, coming about as he opens the box. Inside is a Buckle with a bulky yellow design that calls to mind construction equipment, all the moreso for the caution stripes towards the end that connects to his transformation belt. Geats removes the Magnum Buckle, inserts the new one and spins his Desire Driver.                          Set! Creation! POWERED BUILDER                             Geats leaps from the Boostriker as a suite of heavy man-portable construction equipment is affixed to his armor by a hurried array of robotic manipulator arms. He converts the Magnum Shooter back to its pistol configuration as he falls, holstering it at his hip just in time for--                               Set! GIGANT BLASTER                                   A large caution-striped cannon that could be either a weapon or construction equipment and very likely both, to appear in his hand. The added weight sees him fall faster, but, hefting the thing up to his hip, he aims it at the ground. Rather than lasers, the emitter at the end of the cannon clicks before spitting out bursts of contained, fast-drying cement. A series of foundations is laid across the hub's floor, followed quickly by another click from the weapon to conjure a metal railing spiraling gradually up from the furthest foundation until Geats' boots land solidly upon it. Balanced deftly on the railing, his boots striking up sparks as he slides down--     "Now. Here comes the highlight."     --Geats picks up speed, lowering his profile and leaning forward. He hurtles towards the ground, spurred on by blasts of flame from the annealed Boost thrusters at his greaves.     While Flamel closes on Sigrun on pure adrenaline, Kamen Rider Geats aggressively uses the Gigant Blaster to flash-construct brick walls to both break up Murdoch's men, and, as they attempt to switch back, cut off the general's escape towards the gate.
Odette Raskins	In her haste to get Madeleine and Maltet, Odette's mind doesn't truly register what's going on with Murdoch and the newest arrivals to the battle until after the fact. She doesn't even have time to chase after Madeleine when she runs off, either, between knowing that she just doesn't have the speed to catch up, and also because she sees Murdoch's axe coming away from Flamel who is very much on the ground. "Mister Flamel..? Crap, crap..!" There's still time, so long as he's still breathing. Three more injectors get pulled out of her case, and Odette starts sprinting again before tripping over herself and skidding along the airport floor. All these rapid starts and sotps are hell on her body alraedy, and the falls and tumbles from high places thanks to that dragon definitely didn't help. To make matters worse, she sees more unfamiliar faces approaching the battle with even more pegasus knights, and... The leader's pointing her spear at Lugh. Flamel's up for now, but how long will that last with his wounds? Jamming one of those medicine-delivery sticks into her leg to stave off the burning pain, Odette sprints one more time to get to Flamel, not to stop him, but to get that blood to stop flowing out of him quite so fast with the power of drug-injecting pens and drug-smeared gauze. Someone has to protect Lugh, and someone else has to make sure he can still do it!
Lilian Rook	After multiple engagements, Lilian gets her first relatively clean damage on a dragon. The deflection and landing is still messy, but the technique is the right one, and her understanding of its anatomy is good enough. A brief spike of strangely fierce triumph pulses in her chest, lasting as long as it takes her to kick her snapped boot free, then the other, haul herself up over the ledge one-handed, and extinguish her burning sleeves as quickly as possible.     No looking around tells her that the Lycian League's scouts are broadly in retreat; a good thing, despite the lessening of their combat power; almost nobody is fully armed and armoured. Riku taking the assault that he does is unfortunately just part of the plan, because he's the one big guy who can take it. Murdoch's first and second line of escape are cut off, which would feel good if Lilian could focus on him as an objective for more than a couple of seconds; entire levels of the waiting area collapsing keep distracting her.     §Still nothing for it. The structural damage is way beyond my ability to estimate. Combat magic suitable for anti-dragon use will still make things worse. As far as I know, it can't bleed out, and I can't get a clear shot at its vitals until Asakura gets free. Supporting fire until dry-- I can't miss from this range-- then take the first shot I can get when it starts to slow down. The only other person here I could leave it to is Gebura, and someone still has to deal with Galle.§     Lilian pulls up the side of her sweater and unholsters Winter Crow in the blink of an eye. The action snaps closed with the internal array re-spun to centralize Mercury, and she levels her arm and fires without even aiming down the sight.     §Doesn't matter where I hit. Shots won't penetrate its scales anyways. If it can't use fire, I should take the opportunity to get Lady in Black. Going to be a bitch to focus on that while dodging, shooting, and minding civilians, but I'm not fighting this battle in a skirt.§     Jagged streaks of quicksilver hit the dragon, quick and heavy as a rainshower. Strobing pulses of blue-white arcane heat deny the lancing alchemical cold that extends from each impact, the freezing reaction carrying below the skin like shaped charges. Lilian strafes along the balcony at a sprint while firing on fully automatic, black-glass dust twisting into spiral coalescence around her fingers and ankles as she runs.     She dives under a horizontal claw slash just overhead, breaks it with a shoulder roll, and springs back up to her feet in the midst of venting lumiferous aether from her weapon, slamming another pound and a half rod of gold into the action with the heel of her palm to replace the last one strewn across the floor in her wake. The next crash of claws rips the balcony in half down the middle, and she twists her body to slide down the collapsing ramp on her side, bracing herself against Night Mist on the way down continuing her barrage with her shooting hand pulled to her body.     A last-second leap to a first floor mezzanine carries her over the thrashing tail, traced by a smear of starry fire from her open weapon, cut off by another snap reload in the blink of an eye. Another claw strike is just barely fended off by her sword, with a jumping full-body rotating that gathers enough one-handed speed to deflect herself over it, and shoot it in the back of the hand the entire arc she tumbles over it. She lobs Night Mist up to the third floor as she carries on her sprint, reloads with both hands whilst kicking one, one and a half, then two storeys up, and snags her sword out of the air in the midst of a fourth withering volley of fire.
Lilian Rook	Lilian breathlessly sounds off "I'm out!" to Riku the better part of two hundred rounds later; her armour worked up to her elbows and knees, quadruples its reconstitution speed the second she re-holsters, halfway through shoulders and thighs when she shouts "Clear!" It doesn't require explanation when she takes up her sword in two hands and flattens her stance, suddenly building up a wave of focused energy that causes the silhouette of her blade to shimmer.     "Cleasanna--!" Lilian shoots down from the third floor at a shallow angle, crossing between two overlooks before the dragon's teeth reach her. She hits the edge of the opposite balcony, coils up, redirects, and doubles her energy back for a level stroke across the back of the dragon's spine; a trajectory that takes her right between its fiery wings.     The half-melted beams give out first. The floor collapses beneath her as she kicks off, and Lilia crashes into the dragon's back instead.     She feels something in her shoulder crunch. No time to pay attention. Her reflexes are fast enough to break her fall sideways and roll over its haunch rather than straight into the flames. Even the brief exposure causes first degree burns. She grits her teeth and tries to accelerate her fall. Another wild claw swipe blurs out of the left corner of her vision by surprise. Her reaction time saves her again, catching the sharp edge of all four across the length of Night Mist. The momentum of the blow hurls her away regardless, and she collides with the ground before she can summon up aerial magic to counteract it. Lilian tumbles head over heels, strikes the floor tiles with her back, bounces, deflects from a walkway pillar with her armoured forearms, rolls half a dozen times to bleed off momentum, and finally drags in breath again when she stops at a numb and dizzy crouch, sword instinctively held in an overhead guard.     §Fuck. Fuck. Everything's too unstable. I can't make any ground maneuvers without stopping everything first. I've already used so much today-- no, there's no way around it. I--§     'You!'     Lilian only even notices the pegsus knights after she hears the leader speak; something that drives home how rattled she actually is. She rises on autopilot, suppressing the shakes in her arms and taking an aggressive thrusting stance from the unpleasantly close distance she'd already landed.     "Of course he is. He hasn't left our sight in months." Lilian gasps, using the pause to catch her breath, even for a few seconds. "Is a child really your priority on a battlefield, 'Wingleader'? If you're distracted by him, I'll take your head off."
Marigold	With familiarity with Elibean warfare, the word 'dragon' starts to sound a lot like 'tank'. Rutger tries her hand at distracting it from Riku, but her blade can't manage more than scoring its scales; Lucius snaps off a bolt that staggers its rampage for a second, but does little else.      It emits another gurgling shriek, internal fire cauterizing its own drizzling wounds, and tries to pounce Riku in a way that'll surely slam him through the hub's center and bring the roof down-- but the blast he slams into its breastbone drives it back hard enough to drag clawmarks across the floor. Lilian drives two hundred rounds into it while it slowly rises back up from its crouch, piercing shallowly where they find a good angle, then scores its back deeper. This time she hits meat, but jars off bone.      That makes one of its flame-wings flicker dim and seems to enrage it. Spinal injury means a lot more to a human than something like a rampaging elephant; it shoulders Riku back again, growing more erratic, and then tries to muscle past him to get at the smaller, crunchier humans deeper in the airport.      Maltet feels agreeable in Madeleine's hands. It probably isn't one of the choosy Weapons anyway, if Galle could handle it- but, even if only slightly, the twice-broken fragment of a fragment seems to resonate with her.      Maybe it's as shallow as 'winter'. Maybe it's as deep as 'I was supposed to be something other than the thing I am'.      It steers her intuition just slightly: grip there, shift your weight here, leap like this, and as it lifts its head to try and snap its jaws at her just a bit too slowly now, aim riiight--      Squelch. Crack.      There's only about a foot of 'Maltet' left. Divinely annihilating twelve inches behind a dragon's eye socket won't quite kill it. But it'll come pretty close. Flame vents from its pierced head, more like a spray of gore than an attack; it falls onto its side, cratering the concrete, and goes into its death throes.      Galle's functionally unarmed but for a length of splintered wood and too entangled with Gebura to make a full defense. The best he can do, gritting his teeth, is to kick away from her- away from Murdoch, and towards Sigrun- just so the horizontal slice doesn't completely bisect him. It still cuts into his abdomen and flings him across the floor, landing on his knees and clutching his gut.      "What was your bribe," he pants at her, sounding quite different- far more tired- from the man who'd once said 'kill them all before they can scream'. "Doesn't look any good."
Marigold	"Keep... Igrene... safe." Fae struggles to process Roland's demand for a long moment, but Igrene nods at him, heartrent-grateful. Fae's lips wobble. She wants to say something like: 'how many people have left me? Can't Igrene stand just one or two?'      She doesn't. But she doesn't say anything else, either. Just nods with her eyes welling up, as Igrene sighs out a tense breath.      Audrey's gravity stunt staggers the pegasi and sends most of the knights bracing against walls or handrails to stay upright. "Talia, Cara, get up. ... Tch." Sigrun arches her eyebrows further, tests the added weight by lifting her hand, then kicks a dropped javelin up from the ground and hurls it at Audrey's head.      Nobunaga's beams aren't something the ordinary soldiers under Murdoch's command can handle, no matter how tightly he's drilled them; especially not with Ace disrupting their formation. A pair of his spearmen go down to the splashes while his mage tries to break down the walls. The tall man himself has to throw himself in harm's way to stop their formation from being destroyed completely, leaving his armor glowing and arm sizzling. They're not far from a gate now, but...      "How shall you purchase their lives from the Demon King?"      "Every soldier is a dead man when he puts on his colors," a wounded Murdoch replies leadenly, "and alive again only when he takes them off. Some 'king' you are not to know that. Gregori! Lead the--" By sheer volume, some of Roland's slugs find the weak points of his armor under that jacket, including his neck. It bleeds heavily. "--ghhhk, retreat! Sigrun covers us!"      She might, or she might not. Over on Sigrun's side of the field, the beam attack plays differently.      "Is a child really your priority on a battlefield, 'Wingleader'?"      "Your priority should be getting the fuck out of my country," Sigrun says, deflecting a fiery laser cleanly off her sword. She doesn't much care that she happens not to be in Ilia right now. "That little traitor Raigh is my problem to end."      Flamel is the boldest combatant barring her path, so she rushes in against him while her compatriots recover and saddle up outside Audrey's zone; another flung spear is deflected by 'thin air', and her first overcommittal stab at his head gets her a psychic strike to the ribs- "Hah! So that's how it is. Had worse-" but then she approaches more carefully, reading his nerves to get in. Hostile intent is met with a dozen blows; a dozen blows are met with two dozen strikes; and the air howls with the stalemate, until--      "STOP!"      Flamel bought Lugh the time to make his own decision. It just might not be a good one. He shoves Flamel out of the way like he's danger, and sprints towards Sigrun like she's safety, with just one heartrending glance back at Flamel and Lucius.      "They-- they had me captive! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to! Please take me back! I-- I was, so scared!" Lugh's a decent enough liar; he doesn't need to pretend his terror. Sigrun's eyes widen; then she puffs out a laugh. "We left you in Edessa. How the hell did you get caught?" "I'll... explain later! Just get me home..."      Lucius is frozen in horror. He can't say a word. If he does, will he seal Lugh's fate?
Marigold	With one last surge of effort, Murdoch smashes down the last wall between his party and the gate-to-somewhere with his wounded arm and tries to limp through after his soldiers, bleeding heavily. With that little of a lead, wounded that badly, it wouldn't be hard to pursue them to an unknown world. But on the other side of Roy's army, Sigrun still bristles, now with Lugh-pretending-to-be-Raigh as her willing captive.      Lucius, stricken, is pulled one direction- but Lugh turns his face away and pretends not to know him. Cecilia is pulled in the other, and looks back- "Come on!"- to gesture for a pursuit. Reluctantly, Roy starts to follow her. The only saving grace might be that Sigrun isn't overeager to risk her life for a Bernish general.      Either finishing Murdoch, or rescuing Lugh from having to cover for his brother, are within reach. But not both.
Madeleine Cadrasteia	Madeleine is extricating herself - and the makeshift-repaired Maltet, which already feels a little more comfortable in her hands than before her final strike - from the dragon's skull and getting out of the way of its thrashing by the time Lugh makes his decision.     "STOP!"     She only catches onto the ruse after Lugh is halfway to Sigrun. She frowns, and it's a good thing the trepidation doesn't show in her eyes so it just looks like a run-of-the-mill scowl. The last time she owed this boy something it was a bag of cream pastries, in recompense for some bumps and bruises. What will she owe him this time, if she leaves in pursuit of Murdoch?     It'd only be a matter of time until his lie was uncovered, when he failed to know something crucial or when word came back from Edessa that Raigh was still in the city. What would happen to the boy then? Sigrun doesn't seem the sort, but Zephiel sure could be. With the stakes being the boy's life... She couldn't take that chance, couldn't do that to him, or to Father Lucius.     Ultimately, she looks to the Father for a sign, unwilling to commit to pursuing the Bernish general and his team without Lucius's assent.
Audrey Basque	"!"     Sigrun certainly isn't messing around. And she *really* must not enjoy Audrey's ability to ground her flying knights. Her field is down-- she never put a new one together. Her back hurts, her clothes are scratched up and singed which is like having dark spots in her (magic) vision.     One of her hands reaches into her pocket in a panicked gamble while the other darts to cover her face as if it would stop a javelin. No, more than likely... she'd have her arm pierced clean through and then her face anyway.     But her gamble pays off.     It just costs some dignity.     With a flash of Light, crunching a Page in her pocket, Audrey's outfit is replaced by a crystal suit, layered with slightly different shades of frosted, almost transparent glass-like fabric, tie included.     The thrown javelin smashes into her sleeve, shattering the crystal but being thrown off course half-broken too. The Petra Page that Angela gave her finally came in handy! It stains red around her back, sadly.     The shattered sleeve starts reforming; and while that's ongoing, the broken shards of the suit float up, Audrey lifting her hand to grasp them as they start taking the vague shape of a particular greatsw--     She panics and stops, letting them fall back to the ground.     That was almost disastrous.     ... more disastrous than wearing that suit.     She has no authority to decide who to pursue, but she would lean towards following Cecilia and Roy.
Angela	''What was your bribe?'' Gebura approaches Galle. It doesn't sound like the other fields are going so hot but she's doing her job here. That's the best that she can do. Try to catch two hares and you'll catch none. Try to catch five hundred hares and they'll devour you alive. "She promised the sky to everyone who wanted it." Gebura says. "In a world that tries to block out the stars." She raises Mimicry. Lilian's words hang in her ears. Every battle Galle escapes is one where he'll come back tougher and grittier and more bloodyminded. She doesn't believe for a second that wound is enough to kill a man like Galle. Meanwhile.. If Fae had said those words, Roland would have shouted. He'd have shouted that losing adults isn't the same as losing a kid. A dead brother, a dead wife--that's terrible enough, especially if it's too soon, but when the future you've been putting your hopes and dreams into is torn away before they truly get to start their life? But she didn't say it, so he didn't shout it. But it can still be seen in his eyes from time to time for those who are looking for it. Roland could lie as easily as he breathed, but he never could manage a poker face. That's why the mask. So nobody could see him wincing and cringing. His partner would tease him about how he wouldn't age gracefully at all from all that frowning and grimacing. Lugh is captured. He's doing the brave kid thing, Roland knows. He only knows that because he planned on needing to know about things like that. He shouldn't have to be that brave. He shouldn't have to make a choice like that. It was stupid to let kids be this close to an operation no matter how much they cried and begged. But this is this and that is that. Roland's wretched Fixer mind can't help but tell him that in the long run eliminating the general is the right call. That's been Bern's great advantage, the thing that has no doubt put the most pressure on Lilian in this war. He also knows that it won't actually help his goals to help end this war faster. But Angelica... She believed in Lilian Rook. If he doesn't help Lilian Rook, she's that much more dead. Gebura, on the other hand, remembers the sacrifice of children. When Lugh is taken as a prisoner--it's really him being so damn self sacrificing about it that hits Gebura hard. She remembers Enoch. She remembers he agreed to everything that was done to him. And then he was gone so fast and that brilliant and beautiful woman who promised the new future took something she couldn't heal away and now ... she's not sure she understands the dream anymore. Galle moved himself towards Sigrun. Towards Lugh. And that's why Roland has no problem pulling the trigger and firing another volley at the target. And Gebura hesitates just a milisecond too long.
Lilian Rook	'Your priority should be getting the fuck out of my country'     "Go back to your frozen shithole first before saying that." Lilian snaps, appreciating the handful of seconds to get oxygen back into her blood enough to add "Dozy cunt." as an extension.     §Fully armoured in just a second. Should have done that from the start; the friction would have paid off. Nothing to shoot her with. She's handling Basque's piddly magic like it's nothing, so she must be fairly strong, despite looking like . . . that. Never fought spear and sword, but I don't think I have a reach or speed advantage naturally. I can barely feel my arms, but they're not structurally damaged as far as I can tell, and I'm better protected and definitely weigh more. Take it to a ground fight? We've just met, so she'll need at least a few exchanges to adjust to me. I can't pull that off until I'm out of reach of that squadron, though, or they'll just stab me as a group once I take her down. Ugh.§     The dragon crashing down behind her is so obvious that she doesn't have to look to know how things are going. Gebura isn't dead, so Maltet isn't out of the tolerable range of control. Lilian really, truly, does not like having Galle to her back, but he's wounded and Sigrun is fresh, and she wants to believe even more that holding off Wingleader is the most useful thing she can do right now, because otherwise she should be executing two badly wounded opponents.     Taking quick, centering breaths, she eyes the lucky exchange with Flamel first, makes a few rough estimates, and steps into range from just behind Sigrun's spear arm. Rising from low quarter, Lilian whips Night Mist upwards to strike the spear haft from beneath, then releases the hilt with one hand to snag it in the split second its trajectory is predictable and Sigrun should naturally tighten her hold so as not to be disarmed. Lilian lets her residual momentum carry herself out in front of her, risking a slash from the cavalry saber at a range it can't gather much power, and faces backwards to hurl Sigrun away from her troops and into the center plaza with her spear as a lever, moving on to--     'STOP!'     "Are you--?!" Lilian hesitates, not because of Lugh, but because of the sudden premonition that she should; the sort that's sudden and unbidden like this only ever has a small range of possibilities short of 'total disaster', and she doesn't have time to interrogate it. At least she can briefly meet Lucius' eyes without being seen.     Holding Sigrun off was supposed to be the most useful thing right now. And this is that.     "I told you to stay quiet! Get back here!" Lilian shouts, narrowly avoiding Lugh's name. She has no idea why it's important, but it feels like it is. Rushing towards Lugh instead of Sigrun means the Wingleader has to move her whole body to get to him, rather than only her weapon to defend herself; there are surely plenty of explanations to theorize as to why she sprints towards him normally. "Lord Roy! They're going to take Raigh!" she calls out, knowing he can't hear her. "Your orders?!" follows; she isn't going to listen out for them. All she wants is to have a good reason not to look back for one more minute, and for it all to be over by then.