Дельвардус написал(а):

unforgiving wall of taut metal.
    ??? Переводчик в шоке — где они там стальные тросы нашли?!

Скорее, проводов.

Пырым... Нет, батенька, нет. Слово "провод" в русском языке -- это от "проводник" в значении "проводник электрического тока". И точка, угу. Какие провода в Халке?
И wire и cabling имеют такое значение -- но не в средневековье же... А если не "провод", то...
Wire -- это, скорее, проволока. В смысле -- металлическая нить, полученная путём волочения.
А cabling идёт от "скрутки", то есть что-то, скрученное в жгут.
Получаем мы свитую проволоку, то бишь трос.

al103 написал(а):

Ну толщина тросов это вопрос спорный... но в сеттинге где летуны распространены, а маги огня которые хотят кушать исчисляются сотнями тысяч...

Прикол в том, что трос из хренового железа не стоит выделки. Он по удельной прочности к весу уступает пеньке.  Нужна сталь.
А со сталью... С такой сетью они бы могли полстолицы купить, столько стоит будет выделка.
Хотя да, тут я загнул. Похоже, не тросы просто из проволоки скрутили. Но вот нахрена на складах столько железной проволоки? Проволоку стали применять в большом количестве в середине Девятнадцатого, когда потребность начинающейся потихоньку электрификации потребовала постройки больших промышленных волочилен -- и сразу придумали, куда припахать её ещё. А до этого её использовали только как полуфабрикат...
Отдельно всплывает вопрос о "трансмутациях" магов Земли -- местные так бы не заинтересовались конвертерами, если бы она была постоянной, ведь тогда обломков одной Белгеновой "Великой Валькирии" хватило хрен знает на сколько...
Наколдовал, что ли, кто-то эту сетку перед запуском?

al103 написал(а):

Во первых всего три скорости автомобиля или полторы Сессны или кукурузника или 3/4 Ил-2 который не самый быстрый летун, да...

Хрен редьки особо не слаще.
Ноги отвалятся -- это к вопросу о шагоходах... Тупо суставы не выдержат. Это не колёса...

Compared to that, the silence afterward did a rather good job of convincing Guiche that he was dead.
When he opened his eyes to inscrutable darkness, it took him a moment to remember himself, muttering to dispel the conjuration, the bronze barrier dissipating into a cloud of dust and base earth. Every fiber of his being hurt, but his first concern had to be his brother.
"Reinhardt?" Guiche turned over, pushing himself off the ground. "Reinhardt, speak to me…" Guiche let his voice drop as he went pale.
His brother coughed heavily, groaning as he slowly propped himself up. "Aye… That was bit of a spill." The wind mage winced as he began to brush himself off with his free arm, rolling his shoulders as if to test for injury. "But any landing you can walk away from I'd say, eh?"
"Brother." Guiche felt his voice trembling, he felt like he was going to be ill.
The elder Gramont brother grimaced, it was clear he was in more pain then he would admit. "And what are you about, stuttering like that? You're to be a soldier aren't you?" Shifting as if to get his right leg under him, Reinhardt winced in pain, reaching down to rub at the offending limb and then giving pause as he found that beneath the knee, his right leg was no longer there. In the dim light, Guiche could see the white of bone among flowing rivulets of red.
It would not have been an exaggeration, Guiche thought, to say that his brother's eyes nearly burst from their sockets as he gave out an agonized hiss. A Gramont man would never cry out, but that small sign of pain shook Guiche from his own shock. Quickly, they had to bind it! A tourniquet, something to stop the bleeding.
Stumbling through a quick chant, Guiche conjured a knife and began cutting strips of his own jacket. "Aye, hold still brother!" He ordered as he went to work, fingers fumbling. Reinhardt would need a proper water mage for this, the little healing magic that Guiche knew would have been worse than useless with something like this, he could in fact make things worse, do damage rather than heal
Reinhardt had none of it. "What… the blazes did they throw at us? It looked like wire?"
"Strung from the warehouses." Guiche agreed. His brother wasn't going to stop talking so soon as well answer his questions. "The assassin fled when he failed, but it must never have been his intention to be caught if possible. They must have prepared for our pursuit if their plan had failed. Which means he and his allies had this route planned from the beginning." And stupidly they had followed at his heels like loyal little Guards of King and Country. "And, remember what the Knights mentioned; their mounts have been poisoned."
Reinhardt growled in rage and pain as the tourniquet was set. "The villains had help from within our ranks. Blasted traitors in our midst…" Reinhardt groaned as he clutched at his right knee. His pained hisses were only overshadowed by the crashing of debris and the groaning of wood coming from not far away.
"Listen to me Guiche… gah… we cannot allow this to go unopposed. We cannot allow that man, that imposter, whatever he is, to escape! Our family has made alliances with the Fae already, for the good of ourselves and for the good of all Tristain." As if Guiche needed to be told that. "This…" Reinhardt sucked in breath, "If it is some sort of trick to drive a wedge between us and our allies, this could doom the Fae and us along with them."
Like the standoff that had erupted in an instant at the party. All it would take was one wrong move, one spell cast in fear. It could erase so much, unleash the hatreds bubbling just beneath the surface of much of the nobility. Civil war in Tristain with a mounting invasion from Albion on their doorstep. All could be lost.
"Guiche." Reinhardt leaned back against a wall as he finished with the tourniquet. "You are a Gramont, you know your duty, to King and Country and family." A pained smile. "Now don't disappoint, little brother."
How could brother say something like this?! His leg! He'd just lost his leg and he was worried about the family and the kingdom?! He was… Guiche stood up slowly as the crashing sounds came again. He was… an inarticulate, angry shout. Guiche turned toward the noise and broke into a run, roaring. He was absolutely right!
And even as Guiche ran, feeling every step of the way as though he was going to wet himself, all he could think of was what it would mean for them, for all of them if they lost now. A chaotic country descending into chaos, or worse, outright civil war and invasion, nobody would be safe. Least of all soldiers like the Gramonts. But mostly… ' Montmorency'.
He wanted to weep at that. When she was angry, she was more than he knew what to do with, when she was happy, she was the best friend he could have, and when he was lost he could tell her anything. He was lucky, so very lucky to have her. And she would be in exactly as much danger as everyone else if Tristain was invaded, if this imposter was allowed to escape. Intolerable!
The dust rising from around the corner obscured his view, but a weak wind cleared the way as he rounded the corner and stopped, feeling his legs nearly give out as he saw what was emerging from the shadows of the collapsed warehouse.
It was impressive on the merits of size alone, he'd admit, though father would never have tolerated such a clumsy, hideous arrangement of stone, wood, and rubble. It was the mark of a powerful mage that it could be made to work, and of a sloppy mage that time hadn't been made to prepare better materials. Slow, methodical, lurching motions, one stone limb rising to beat aside the remains of the roof as it rose to its full height, nearly five mails tall and half as broad across the shoulders, head a shapeless lump of stone, overly long arms a crude assemblage of crumbling earth, gravel and wooden beams.
It was advancing, a methodical, startlingly human gait, limbs swaying with each step towards a doorway on the far side of the wide thoroughfare that serviced the docks, and the solitary figure struggling to stand in the midst of the rubble.
"Midori!"
Guiche saw her pulling herself free from the ruins of a doorway, the stained oak at her back back smashed to splinters by her impact. Arms wrapped around her stomach as she trembled in pain. Beaten and bloody, her dress and stockings torn to reveal bruising and cuts all over her legs. She hardly resembled a skilled swordswoman now. More alike to a hurt little waif that had no business here in the midst of battle and death.
The golem seemed to think the same, raising one arm in a powerful motion, readying for a crushing downward swing. Midori managed to look up through one eye, gathering her legs, and in the darkness, a faint glow flickered at her back; a trick of the light?
All of his determination from moments before came into question. What could he do against something like that?! It was the work of a high line, no, a triangle at least to make such a mishmash of rubble and earth move so easily. And yet…
Don't sell yourself short Guiche.
The arm began to gather speed, began to fall. He thrust out his wand.
The Golem stopped… its motion ended, its arms shuddering as if held in place by an invisible hand of power. Guiche felt like that same hand was pressing down on his own skull as he threw all he could into ripping apart the construct's magics. With all the different materials comprising the golem, it wasn't hard to interfere with the internal web of magic, but he couldn't hold this attack for long. Already he felt the pressure building towards migraine, the feedback from trying to control a construct that he, a dot, had no business interfering with.
Suddenly overbalanced, it staggered forward, stumbling and pulverizing the street before it, but slowly enough for Midori to recover and rush out of the way, regain her bearing and turn back to face it.
"Midori?" Guiche asked breathlessly.
"I'm fine." The swordswoman called. "Don't worry about me."
Long forearms dug into the earth, correcting balance, allowing the monster to turn itself precariously about, head turning from side to side as if deciding whether to go for Midori or Guiche first. It settled on Guiche. Leaning forward with an unusual level of dexterity, the rubble Golem broke into a sprint, intent on simply smearing Guiche across the paving stones. Guiche's attempt to slow its progress was now doing next to nothing as the Golem's controlling mage now poured all of his will into driving his construct forward to battle.
One broad stone fist swung in a hook; if it connected, Guiche was sure it would simply tear him in two. With a powerful tug at his collar, he felt himself flying backwards, the Golem's knuckles passing like a cannonball so close he could feel the wind of its passage. And then he was tumbling back out of the way. Midori had taken his place.
"No! Miss Midori! Run!"
Without a sword, without any sort of weapon at all, what could she ever hope to do? Another titanic fist descended to smash her to paste. With nothing but a small inhalation, Midori rushed forward, the Golem's blow digging a furrow in the earth where she had stood a breath before. Guiche watched, and even though he knew what he was seeing was real, he still didn't believe it. The Golem's only connecting strike had been by surprise, now that it was really facing Midori, here, in the open, it couldn't land a single hit.
The Master's frustration showing through in its movements, another fist crashed into the earth where Midori had been standing, the construct again overbalanced, and this time, Midori was ready, assuming a low stance, and gathering her hands close to her side.
'But she hasn't a weapon.' Guiche thought, her sword had been lost in the confusion, she only had her bare hands. Her bare… hands…
It would have been impossible to miss it, the glow gathering in the palm of her left hand, flickering and building up, causing her skin to shimmer all the way up her forearm like she was holding a fistful of mage light. And then, as the Golem tried to stumble away, she released it, blow building through arms to shoulder, then down the back to her leg.
The Golem staggered, nearly falling backwards, forearm still smoking where the entire fist had been shattered at the wrist. Guiche never would have imaged that there would be any being of flesh and blood that could manage that stone splitting force. But, impressive as it was, t wasn't over yet.
"Guiche." Midori ordered. "Swords."
Guiche obeyed without a word. It was the least he could do, the very least. Casting quickly, a shower of bronze petals came forth from his wand, settling to the ground where they began to transmute, gathering up the local earth to reshape into a half dozen simple, but perfectly serviceable, short swords.
He'd meant to produce the extras simply to give Midori a choice of preference, he hadn't been expecting her to grab a second blade as she made her way towards the behemoth in front of her, stalking forward with supreme confidence.
With the Golem's next punch she jumped, alighting on its fist and rushing up the arm, and then in a blur sparks raged as the construct recoiled back, blow after blow striking against its head until it began to chip and shatter, until the blade's in Midori's hands broke under the onslaught. A clumsy swipe with its handless arm knocked the swordswoman free.
Landing and rolling backwards, she grabbed the next two swords before dashing back in, delivering a metal shattering double strike to the golem's left ankle and then again with the last pair of swords to the same place, weakening the leg.
"Guiche!"
"Right!"
He understood now, unleashing another wave of bronze petals, not just a sprinkling, a  shower falling all around Midori. It was like nothing he'd ever seen before. Dozens of blades came forth around the battlefield. Whenever one broke or grew dull she'd simply grab another, never relenting in her double handed assault, chipping away at the stone and rumble, cracking and splintering rock.
The Golem and its Master couldn't possibly take much more. A final punch, thrown from the ruined arm. Midori crossed her two latest swords but it still sent her skidding, tumbling backwards until she caught herself barely mails from Guiche.
By now, he wasn't worried about her, he just needed to know what she wanted from him. A small glance, picked up from the corner of his eye and understood instantly. More swords formed, one after another, two rows extending arm lengths apart towards and then past the golem. This was the end.
Midori  surged forward, and for the barest moment Guiche thought he saw something at her back, a smoky blackness rising from between her shoulders, but there was no time to wonder, throwing his concentration into one last act of sabotage. Again he nearly ruptured himself throwing everything he could at the insides of the Golem, again it was slowed, not by much, but maybe by enough.
Enough that when Midori hit, blow after blow landed without any chance to defend, no final defense or hardening of its skin was allowed. Limbs began to crack, wood and stone chipped away, slowly stumbling backwards between the line of conjured swords, each failing after a single overwhelming strike, opening the way for the next. Never ceasing, never slowing.
It had had enough, arms crumbling, falling to the sides, suddenly unbalanced, Midori cast away the last of the swords and in a final blow, drove a spear hand strike into, and  through the behemoths earth and gravel chest. Falling still, with a last rumbling groan, the Golem began to collapse on itself, sustaining magic falling apart, falling inward, until at last all that was left was a pile of beaten rubble.
And beyond the cloud of dust and smoke at the far end of the dock, free of them, the Imposter running towards one of the water outlets that fed beneath the city. If he got into that maze they'd never find him! They were close, only a short span of water separated them.
"Midori!"
A last sword conjured out of thin air, the girl grabbed it, blinking in surprise as she felt the familiar weight and balance. Guiche for one thought it a nice touch, he'd taken the liberty of very carefully memorizing the nature and form of the swordswoman's preferred weapon. Whether she cared to comment was academic; displaying her speed once more, Guiche ran after her, even though he knew he could never keep up.
The Imposter was scaling the gravel and stone along the shore, he was climbing the last steps to the entrance to the waterway, he had only mails to go. Then something, perhaps a sixth sense made him turn… bronze flashed.
Guiche felt his breath slow, eyes unfocused for a time until he felt something cold and wet strike his cheek, and then another and another. Drop after drop, the rain beginning to fall until at last he found himself standing in the middle of a downpour.
A by now familiar, almost comforting voice reached him. "Guiche?"
There was no time to lose. The Golem! Where there was a Golem, there was usually a controlling Golemetrist nearby. This brute was simply too crude to be a proper Alvis.
"Miss Midori, do you see him?"
"Guiche?"
"Do you see the mage, the mage who was controlling that Golem?"
"Guiche."
"He must be around here somewhe…"
"Guiche!" Spoken for the last time, loud and commanding, he fell silent as if scolded by his childhood nanny. Midori looked up at him, shaking her head slowly. "He's probably long gone by now. Besides, we got what we were after."
The most unpleasant expression of distress suddenly crossed the young swordswoman's face as she held the form in her hands by its hair. "I really hope this  wasn't Lord Mortimer… otherwise his brother is going to kill me."
Perhaps literally. Guiche thought as he found himself face to face with the Imposters last expression of profound shock.
"Perhaps a more restrained technique could have been used." Guiche speculated.
Midori shook her head. "He wasn't going to come quietly, and we already lost people." She looked around suddenly. "You were with someone…?"
Guiche's eyes widened. "Brother! Please, we have to hurry back to him now, please just this way…."
All else forgotten, they ran the way back, Guiche leading to the alley where he had left Reinhardt. By the time they got there, they found the Captain in the company of two of the surviving Manticore Knights. Uniforms shredded from close calls, and one baering a bandage over his right eye, it was clear that they'd been in a fight and come back victorious, if barely.
"Brother!" Guiche cried as he saw Reinhardt laying still, covered to the neck by a cloak.
A heavy hand planted itself firmly on his shoulder. "He's just been put under so that we can move him without pain." The bandaged Knight said. "Fortunately the cut is fairly clean, and the tourniquet prevented too much bleeding. We'll send him to the Champ de Mars infirmary as soon as our cavalry lands."
A loud cry came from above, the noises of dragons as they began to circle, minutes too late to be of any use, but a comforting presence nonetheless, a reminder that control was reasserting itself. They rest would have to be left to them.
'This rain should help with the fires at least…' Guiche thought darkly. It was small comfort for a disastrous evening.
Turning his eyes back to Midori, Guiche saw her hand the severed head off to the second Knight for verification. She was standing in the cold, soaked to the bone. The remains of her once beautiful dress clung to her skin, making her look even smaller and more fragile than usual. She gave a small shiver, well hidden but still there.
Guiche shook his head. He was a Gramont, and Gramonts were gentlemen. "Miss Midori?" He offered his jacket, gently draping it over her shoulders.
Midori looked down at the garment, hands feeling at its materials. A small frown crinkled her delicate features. "Guiche… this is soaked all the way through…"
"It's… the thought that counts?" He offered the only comeback he could think of.
Midori opened her mouth to answer, but instead just sighed. "Guiche…"
"Yes?"
"Just stop talking."
"Okay."
The remaining Manticore Knights arrived not long after, being mostly unscathed despite the battles against the Imposter's allies. They had been victorious but had failed to capture any of the attackers. They'd either escaped into the underground or else refused to be taken alive. Which meant they could only hope that something of wisdom could be gleaned from the Imposter's disarticulated corpse.
While the Knights secured the rest of the body, scoured the area, and investigated the now abandoned river barges, Midori and Guiche were taken back to the palace to make their report.
Arriving, they found that the chaos they had left behind had not much improved. Guard officers were still shouting orders and nobles were still squabbling with one another, but at least no one was pointing wands at one another, and there seemed to be some sort of higher purpose to the madness that had taken hold.
"Guiche!" Montmorency cried when she saw him, fighting through the packed hallways to embrace him tightly. If this was the reception he would receive every time he ran off into danger, then maybe the idea wasn't as unpalatable as he had first thought. But here wasn't time for a long reunion. With the scarce moments he had, he hugged her tightly before letting go, promising the crying girl to return soon.
Their female musketeer escort led them directly to a parlor where Captain Hammond of the Manticore Knights was conferring with his officers and directing the lockdown of the Capital, or at least, he was trying to, if not for the bellowing old man leaning over him.
"Incompetence piled on incompetence! You had only one duty tonight, yet failed utterly! Find her or I will have your head!" Finally, allowing himself to be taken by the armsmen, the person of Lord Justice Richmond was escorted from the room while a bemused Captain Hammond watched on.
"Sir! Guiche de Gramont and Miss Midori here to speak with you." The musketeer offered a clumsy salute before retreating to stand beside the closed door. Curious that a musketeer wouldn't be carrying a musket… Guiche squinted at the girl. She was so very familiar…
Musketeer asude, here were yet more peculiarities in the room. For one, it was not occupied merely by the Captain's subordinates, nor did he appear to be the only one giving orders.
"We need to take advantage of this rain. Sir Bowen, you said your earth Mages can open up these streets?" The Lady Asuna leaned intently over the table, one slender index finger tapping the surface of a map of the Capital. "Do you think we can use the district dividing street as a firebreak?"
A Griffin Knight, stroking his chin thoughtfully gave a small nod. "It's wide enough. But we'll need earth mages for work like that."
"There's a team of Gnome Geomancers at the training camp right now. I've already sent messages to them." The Lady Asuna replied, crossing her arms. "If we isolate these sections of the commoner districts that should free up people who would be protecting their own businesses and homes to aid in fighting the fires."
"Very well." Sir Bowen said. "I'll have my men put right on it."
Looking curiously to Captain Hammond, the Manticore Knight simply shrugged. "I've been indisposed I fear, and once the Nobility were calmed enough to free up the Fae, the Faerie Lords made themselves immediately available to assist in fighting the fires and capturing any remaining conspirators. Lady Asuna has been liaising with us at Prince Wales' suggestion."
"Asuna is a very adaptable girl." The Prince agreed as he leaned against the table, looking much more tired now than he had less than an hour ago. "I don't think we could ask for a better mind to coordinate our efforts tonight."
Midori's eyes lingered on the Faerie princess until Asuna glanced up, meeting Midori's eyes. She gave a small, reassuring smile before another Noble officer came forward, clearly looking to have his questions answered.
"Now then." Captain Hammond eyed them both. "Your reports."
Brief and to the point, underlining everything they had seen and gone through. The Captain listened calmly, stopping them each at several points for clarification until he was at last satisfied with their story.
"It's an unfortunate turn of events that you couldn't bring him back alive."
"Though I believe I am in your debt once more." Prince Wales added. "We really must turn an eye to preventing this in the future wouldn't you say?"
All too right. Guiche and Midori nodded together.
"If I might be so bold, is that what the Lord Justice was hounding you over?" Guiche asked cautiously. Though, it left him to wonder what the consequences would be for his own family. He shuddered to think.
"No, that would be another issue." The Captain said as he turned back to his map. "Sir Bjorn, cordon this section of the river, it's the most likely outlet to be used."
"Yes Sir!" The Griffin Knight saluted before hurrying from the room. In his absence Captain Hammond continued.
"It would appear that the Princess has been kidnapped."
The words hung in the air for entirely too long without anyone batting an eye. Guiche felt sick. He'd been right to suspect it was diversion. The Prince of Albion saved, the Imposter exposed and killed. Had this all been for nothing?!
"But… how… how is this?!" Guiche began to stammer. The very idea. The Crown Princess was a person of the highest importance, her security was all but impregnable.
Yet a traitor had been the captain of her most trusted royal guard not long ago… even if the rest of the Griffin Knights were loyal, who else might betray her? Just how deep did this web of traitors go? Again he was reminded of the poisoned mounts…
"In the confusion, the guard detail was separated from their principal." Captain Hammond hung his head. "If this reflects poorly on anyone it is I. There is every sign that they made use of the servants passages to escape in the greater confusion. It shouldn't have been possible, but it appears that there may have been an old tunnel that connects the Palace proper to the House of Peers. I can't imagine how they discovered it or who would even have known of its existence."
"Then…" Guiche stammered. "I volunteer at once to help with the search for her highness. We must…"
"We must remain calm, Mister Gramont." Captain Hammond replied. "Think of how your father would react. We have a plan, we need only wait for it to come to fruition."
Guiche glanced to Miss Midori who still looked as calm as ever, in fact, everyone in this room. Was he standing in a den of traitors?! He wanted to scream. What plan?! Their fair Princess was in the hands of traitors and murderers and enemies of the kingdom!
He didn't have long to wait as a knock came from the door, a pair of servants, a black haired butler and maid, dressed like those that had been serving through the night, were admitted without escorts, the door quickly closed behind them.
"And what do you two have to report?" Captain Hammond asked calmly. Everyone in the room turned their attention to the two new arrivals.
Expression souring, the butler crossed his arm, an unconscionable act that creased his dark uniform in an utterly unacceptable fashion. "We confirmed the tracer took hold, it is still transmitting and the rest of the team is trailing in pursuit. Now can I please get out of this clown suit?" The man shifted uncomfortably.
The maid at his side shook her head. "But… you look like a total Sebastian in that form man!" Then, without another word, she raised her hand and swiped at the air, a small cloud of light gathering in her hand and then expanding into runes. Fae Runes.
Guiche's eyes widened. How was this possible, unless… "You're Fae!" He bleated. Pointing an accusing finger.
The two servants rolled their eyes. "You figure that out all on your own?" The butler grunted. "You know, if someone's going to try and kill the Prince of Albion while masquerading as a Faerie, you didn't think we wouldn't be involved, did you?"
Well… no… but. He was too tired for this. "Please." Guiche rubbed at the bridge of his nose. "Do explain."
"It's quite alright to be confused." Prince Wales chuckled softly. "But put simply, as Captain Hammond said, it appears that Henrietta has been kidnapped. Of course, appearances can be deceiving…"
"Deceiving?" Guiche shook his head.
"Basically." Midori smiled. "The person who was kidnapped isn't the real Henrietta." She turned and pointed to the musketeer fidgeting beside the door. "She is."
"Did you really have to ruin it so quickly?" Petulantly scowling as if disappointed, the musket woman started to undo her short ponytail. Hair spilling down, shaken free, and turning down the collar of her uniform. Actually looking at her, her identity was clear as day. But of course, nobody would ever have thought to look. Especially not at a lowly musketeer. "I thought I was doing a good job!"
Not the real Princess. A  fake ! Guiche felt ready to collapse.
"You were doing a marvelous job." The Prince assured the not Musketeer, now revealed as Princess Henrietta de Tristain, before turning back to a stunned Guiche. "Our decoy is more than capable of taking care of herself and has been tagged with a number of Fae spells so that we might follow her. This was always a contingency of last resort but I must confess it is working out remarkably well and might lead us right to the den of traitors."
"Now you're just asking for more trouble." The disguised Faerie butler grumbled.
The hammering that followed at the door seemed like some omen and all eyes turned inexorably to Prince Wales as if to offer silent accusation. A long, low breath, escapeed from Midori as she, along with everyone else in the room, turned to see who it was.
The sounds of arguing on the other side cut off suddenly, the doors were thrown open to Admit Lady Alicia, Lady Morgiana, and what Guiche could only think of as some sort of horrid specter in the company of General Eugene and a very battered looking Salamander swordswoman trailing close behind.
"Lord… Mortimer?" Captain Hammond asked. The real one most assuredly.
Before anyone could say a thing, Lady Alicia stormed forward, eyes slit and face filled with feral anger. "I'm going to ask one last time. WHERE THE HELL IS SAKUYA?!"

Chapter 11 - Part 1
Cold. Icy daggers piercing her skin and soaking into her scalp, spreading and seeping into her nose and down her throat. The unpleasant sensation of throat closing up, of gagging, suffocating!
Sakuya found herself being dragged back to consciousness, gasping, spluttering and confused as her eyes fluttered open upon a dark and distorted world. Wetness seeped icy tendrils down her neck, refusing to be blinked away. She tried to wipe the water from her eyes only to find her wrists bound above her head. Heart suddenly racing. Struggling to sit up, she discovered the same had been done to her ankles, forcing her to assume a reclined position, stretched out atop a long, thin bench, securely affixed to the wall beside her.
Incomprehension and a growing sense of alarm filled her. Where was she? What had happened?
Quickly, the last thing she could remember… It had been just before the Gala was set to get started. She had parted company with Shirishi, Asuna, and Kirito, wishing them all luck after the past intensive days of planning and practice. They had felt like they had covered every contingency, but that meant there were almost certainly dozens they hadn't even thought of. Sakuya had tried not to think about that, or the cost of failure as she had returned to her guest quarters to prepare for the evening. They all had their parts to plays, and most importantly, they could not allow their vigilance to show.
She remembered reaching her door, nodding politely to Ephi as he stood watch outside. Her gown, the one that Henrietta had insisted she have fitted, would be waiting for her, laid out by the serving staff. An elegant, dark green affair that Alicia had teased her about right up until she and Henrietta had turned the tables, forcing the Cait Lord to step up and be fitted as well. She remembered Ephi opening the door for her, stepping inside, and then… Nothing. Not even blackness, just… blank until the moment she had woken.
Her furiously working mind came grinding to a halt as the most inhuman noise started up right beside her. Low and distorted, like the speaker was shouting in water. A short and low laugh, edging ever higher towards insanity.
"Fu fu fu… aha… ha ha ha!"
Sakuya turned her head towards the noise. It felt as if it took her mind a moment to catch up with the motion. She felt dizzy, and strangely weak. Trying to flex her fingers returned only a feeble twitching and her tongue felt thick and heavy at it pressed against the roof of her mouth.
'Paralysis?' Sakuya found herself wondering. It matched the reported effects of the paralysis potions and spells at least. Especially as she squinted into the dark all around her. The light cast by a lone lantern should have been enough to see by, but her eyes were only just now beginning to adjust.
The room, what she could make out of it, was tiny, a stone cell possessing only a barred window and a doorway hung with a heavy wood and iron framed door. The only furnishings were a small cot, the one she was laying on, the lantern, and a chair in one corner, laying beneath the darkened window. Only then, as she peered into the darkest corner of the room, the cell, did she see who was laughing.
Face obscured by a smooth, silver helm that distorted and reflected the lantern light, adorned in high grade armor that would have been the envy of most of the Fae serving in the Watch and defense Forces. A Fae, she was certain, no one else would have access to that sort of gear. One hand rested on the hilt of a beautifully polished sword, resting in a scabbard at his side, in the other, he held the Katana Takemikazuchi like a prize.
And then the sudden revelation of what was happening. Her restraints, this stranger standing above her. The Gala and the assassinations, falling into place, piece, by piece.
"What…" Sakuya croaked out, feeling anger rising with fear, "… is the meaning of this?" She tugged at her binds again, feeling the coarse material constrict, cutting into her wrists. She relented for now, struggling was only going to make it worse, better to save her strength.
The Sylphs armored form trembled as if still laughing silently to himself as he stepped slowly forward into the light. She could make out the details of his armor now. Exceptionally well crafted. Mythril mail peeking out from beneath plate and fabric like a layer of silvered silk. And the sword that rested at his hip, impossibly ostentatious, reminded her of something. It nagged at her, eating away at her attention. She almost missed it when he spoke again.
That warped, almost unintelligible voice speaking with so much clear delight and malice. "Ah ah. You shouldn't struggle so much. You don't think I'd give you a chance to break free? Not when I finally have you all to myself. Sakuya- sama ."
Sakuya blinked rapidly, squinting at the helm as if to somehow reveal who was underneath, who was the bearer of that terrible voice? She shook her head angrily. "Answer my questions", she demanded. Voice still restrained controlled, but carrying an edge now. "Who are you and what is the meaning of this?!"
"So forceful!" The voice echoed, laughing again mercilessly as he stood over her. Looked down at her from behind his helmet. Hands reached up to take hold of the straps, unfastening one by one as if it was some grand display. "But if you insist. How could I deny an order like that?" Slowly, the helmet came away, green hair spilling down, and a face was revealed that had been ravaged by horror.
Sakuya nearly gagged as she looked upon it, flesh like melted wax hanging lifelessly down one side, eye drooping and cloudy white. The hair from his temple to the middle of his forehead was patchy and burned and the ruin extended down the left side of his neck past the collar of his breastplate, leaving no doubt that the damage extended still further.
But the right side of his face was pristine, unblemished, still as handsome as the day she had seen it last, sneering at her as he confidently predicted that he would be immune to banishment. More than seeing the wreck of the left side of his face, seeing half of that smug grin made her want to wretch as her tormentor revealed himself.
"Sigurd." Sakuya said to the ghost, the ghoul that had appeared before her. Suddenly, the need to struggle felt far more urgent.
Sigurd, once the leader of the Sylph military in the game world of ALO, had been one of Sakuya's closest subordinates, and had betrayed them to the Salamanders. His unfortunate decision had nearly cost the Sylphs and the allied Cait Sith their opportunity to attempt the Grand Quest and attain the power of unlimited flight…
Sakuya hadn't given a thought to the man since that day, especially after the Transition had plucked them from the Earth, transformed them, and transported them here to Halkegenia. There were so many more urgent things. In fact, he may have been forgotten for all time if he had not now stood before her, in the flesh.
The fallen Sylph gave a mocking bow, an action that somehow managed to convey even less respect then he had ever shown her as his faction Leader. "At your service, oh high and noble Lady of Sylvain." His smile widened. Through his parted lips, Sakuya could see the yellowed and missing teeth on the left side of his mouth. "Though, I can't say that the title really suits you."
Sakuya glared. "Though I think that face suits  you perfectly." She said, almost instantly regretting it.
The retaliation was as swift as it was vicious. Strike landing just below her right eye, Sakuya's head snapped around, leaving her stunned and seeing stars as she worked her jaw, tasting blood. She swallowed, only looking back when she was ready, to find that Sigurd had regained his composure and his look of maddening supremacy.
"It's so like you to say that." Sigurd said as he probed the side of his face delicately. "A little reminder of this world, the parting gift of a Poe Fiend that shredded the rest of my pathetic party in the deep forests." A small shrug, all the effort he would expend on the fallen. "You see, unlike the more fortunate, some of us had the displeasure of waking after the Transition in safe zones far from cities, towns, or help of any kind."
There had been those unfortunates, Sakuya thought. Those few who hadn't understood what had happened, or hadn't managed to retreat to safety after the Transition had occurred. The deep zones in the unaffiliated territories and the dark depths of Jotunheim. Nobody could say how many they had lost, only roughly estimate based on reports given by the high level raid parties that had staggered to the safety of the settlements on that first day.
Sigurd, it appeared, had been among those unfortunates who had survived, but not unscathed.
"Cursed Gaze" Sakuya surmised grimly.
A rare and powerful status effect, one that could be inflicted by only a handful of mobs and spells in all of ALfheim. Manifesting as red markings across the entire effected area, causing random and crippling status ailments. Once it had taken full effect, only respawning could remove it. Here in Halkegenia it had become something much more horrific, something that could never be cured.
Yet hatefully, Sakuya couldn't deny a certain grim satisfaction to see Sigurd wearing that mark. It was beginning to dawn on her, that it was likely the least of the punishment he deserved.
"I assure you Sakuya-chan that it really is quite painful." He turned so that she could only see the unmarked side of his face. "A shame that I can't share it with you. But don't worry…" His voice fell to a soft growl, the look in his good eye, brilliant, shinning green, like a cruel child who had just found a new animal to torment "… We'll make do."
"Is that what this is Sigurd?" Sakuya whispered. "Revenge?"
He looked surprised, almost insulted. "Oh, much, much, more than that." Sigurd assured. "You're thinking too small Sakuya-chan." The Sylph took an almost conversational air as he seated himself facing her, resting Takemikazuchi at his side. "Though I admit, I did want your pretty little head so very much. Part of my payment for the help."
"Help?" Slowly, Sakuya's mind was beginning to put together the pieces. Snatches of conversation, blurry half images caught as she was carried. Muffled voices as she lay here in a daze. She shivered, and not just from the cold. She'd known she was in danger as soon as she had woken. From the moment the word 'payment' left his lips, Sakuya had begun to suspect just how far Sigurd had fallen, and now he confirmed her worst fears.
"As an adviser to some powerful individuals, you don't think I arranged this by myself, do you?" He spread his arms to the room around them, as if gesturing to the space beyond. "I am not, at the moment, a man of such great means, Sakuya-chan. Plucking you from the Royal Palace would have been a bit beyond me without their aid. I'm sure you can imagine who."
The admission echoed inside of her head. Impossible. She would have scoffed at it at any other time, simply refused to believe it. Even knowing what people were capable of, even having seen the evidence for herself. Reconquista, the very people who planned to expunge every last trace of the Fae of ALfheim from Halkegenia. Beyond the simple madness of betraying his own kind. Did Sigurd really believe that Reconquista would deal with him in good faith? And did he even care?
She tried to ask it out loud. "How… How…"
"How did we do it?" Sigurd asked rhetorically. "Easily enough. The sorry state of this country helped. The Crown isn't nearly as secure as it thinks itself. With the right equipment, and some knowledge of the Palace, abducting a few trusted individuals on the night of a major occasion was almost child's play." An amused smirk as if recalling something. "The Royal Guards might be loyal to the last, but it happens to be that the rest of this country is filled to the brim with corruption and nobility that dream of usurping power for themselves. Really, I couldn't ask for better conditions to operate in."
Sigurd hefted Takemikazuchi in both hands, partly unsheathing the sword to examine the first dozen centimeters of its silvered blade. Even in this dark place, the Sword's edge brilliantly reflected the lantern light.
"Of course, there were your own guards to deal with. But that was easy enough to arrange." Another dark chuckle. "You really are a terrible judge of character, Sakuya-chan."
And just what did that mean? She shook her head. "No, how could you betray us. We're your own people, Sigurd."
"You threw me out, Sakuya." A murderous glint filled his good eye. "You threw me to the wolves. And admit it, you'd never have let me back."
Not in his former position. Sakuya knew, but the Transition had changed everything. It wasn't about their petty rivalries and imaginary wars anymore. It certainly wasn't about indulging in their old behavior, something that even the worst trolls and gankers had come to understand aside from Rip Jack. If Sigurd had appeared before her, she would have given him alms like all of the others. But, seeing his wretched state, she could see that it was too late to say that now. Perhaps it had always been too late.
"Not just the Sylphs, all of us. We're all that any of us has." The only friends, the closest thing to family that any of them could reach out and touch. Alicia, and Novair, Kirito and Leafa. The people she relied on and who relied on her.
Another sharp cuff to the cheek, softer than the last, but totally unexpected this time. "Is that some plea for sympathy?" Sigurd wondered. "Get off your high horse Sakuya, deep down we both know you only talk about unity because it suits you." He parroted, scarred voice reciting some of the things that she had written for the message boards. "Regardless of our differences we're all citizens of Earth? All Japanese? A confederation of United Fae Races? And who's going to be at the top of the alliance when the dust settles, I wonder?"
The humor seeped away until the fallen Sylph was left alone with only his deformity and a dull, rage filled look in his eye. "You and Alicia, that treacherous Salamander, even that Fat Bastard Rute. You've all benefited from where you stood when the Transition happened. I could have  been someone!" Voice breaking into a roar of raw volume and inarticulate, indescribable rage. Sakuya was left to take the brunt of it, trying to cringe away as Sigurd pulled her head back around by the hair.
The silence that followed was almost deafening. Panting heavily, Sigurd let his voice drop to almost nothing. "But I will be." He promised, releasing his grip. He was cooling now, regaining his sense of certainty, of dominance.
"You and the other Lords have backed the wrong horse Sakuya-chan. Look at Tristain. A tiny country with a decaying Monarchy that can't even keep a few corrupt Nobles in line. Your 'miracles' at Dunkirk and York may have bought some time, but now you've awoken sleeping giants. They know what you're capable of now. Do you really think Tristain will be able to put up much of a fight now that Reconquista has its sights on them? On all of you? And if you win, do you think Germania won't just swallow you whole?"
Sakuya had thought of all of those things, late at night as she starred up at her ceiling, trying to close her eyes and sleep, not oblivious at all to the dangers that were and the greater dangers that were waiting. She'd thought of all of them and more. But unwaveringly, for good or ill, she'd chosen to hold their ground here, in Tristain i It was a decision that she refused to regard as a mistake. In all of Halkegenia, there was no one else that would have them, who would have offered them what Henrietta and Cardinal Mazarin had given in good faith.
"They'll betray you, Sigurd." Sakuya didn't know why she was even speaking now, maybe to keep Sigurd talking, maybe in hopes that something would happen. "They can't be trusted. They'll use you and then kill you. Or worse, they'll do what they did to the people they killed in Albion." The undead. Friends and loved ones reanimated to serve the cause of Reconquista.
If Sigurd cared, he didn't show it. "Oh I'm well aware of the nature of the snakes I'm dealing with. Precautions have been taken." He assured her. "Besides, I'm convinced that the potency of Reconquista's necromancy has been overstated. Case in point," Sigurd gestured to himself, "The fact that I'm still alive and free to do as I will. The difference is that the head snakes happen to appreciate enlightened self-interest."
"Mortimer-kun did a wonderful job of advertising our capabilities to Tristain's enemies. It's gotten Albion's attention, the way we can challenge their vaunted Dragon Knights and even threaten their fleet. How long do you think it will be before Germania and Gallia are clamoring for Fae of their own and look to the one place where they can get them?"
"One way or another, this country is going to be torn to shreds." Sigurd predicted. "And I don't plan to be torn apart with it. In fact, I plan to profit from it. I'm just… well," he smirked, half of his face showing handsomely, the other shifting in a ghastly fashion, "helping along the wheel of history."
Sakuya began to tremble, with fear, with rage, as Sigurd went on about his plans, his twisted little schemes. Their scale and evil left the betrayal he had committed in ALO far, far behind in the dust. Had he always been a monster? Had the Transition, this world, just let that part of him come to the surface?
With every word that left his mouth, Sakuya became more certain of his lunacy. And worse, terrified of his prospects of success.
"The Kingdoms of Halkegenia are still going to want their own Faerie Forces. It will just be a matter of picking the best of the pieces and the strongest Kingdom to contract with. Once the Lords are gone and this alliance is shattered, people are going to be looking for strong leaders to save them. "
"Leaders like you?" She wanted to laugh at that, throw it back into his face. Sigurd might have fancied himself to be cut out to be a leader, but she'd have taken Mortimer over him in a heartbeat.
"You mock me now, Sakuya-chan." Sigurd sighed and then smiled. "But I've already been instrumental in what is happening even now." He leaned back in his chair, looking up to the ceiling as he rested both hands on Takemikazuchi 's hilt. "I imagine that by now, the Salamander Lord is dead."
Sakuya went stiff at the revelation. Mortimer. Had they killed him?! Or was this a trick to break her? She felt her chest go cold at that thought, the damage that a lone madman may have just so casually inflicted on all of the Fae and their allies. For all his faults, Mortimer had proven himself a military savant. The way he had interfaced almost seamlessly with the armies of Tristain, conveyed his plans and ideas. Where he was a terrible statesman, he could have been a great General, and a part of Sakuya refused to believe it.
Mortimer was too good at what he did. Too cautious. Too paranoid to die easily. And most of all, he wouldn't give her the satisfaction of being put out of her misery. But if it were true, if it were true…
"Don't think even his tactical genius will save him." Sigurd assured her. "He's met his end thanks to an ambush we arranged, courtesy of Reconquista's special forces and our good friend Rip Jack."
Sakuya's eyes widened. The Spriggan Assassin! He'd been under watch, with the rest of the conspirators laying low outside the city. Had he escaped? And if so, was there truth to what Sigurd was saying?
"So that murderer works for you?" She hissed. It couldn't be more fitting that a murderer would serve a monster.
Sigurd shrugged his shoulders softly. "'Works' might be too limited a word. Jack-kun doesn't have the best grip on reality. I'm afraid he spends most of his time in his own little world. Convenient though," he mused, "I just need to point him at what I need destroyed and he goes at it like a dog to a bone. And I do have to say I rather like the title he gave me. The 'Norseman' has a noble ring to it, wouldn't you say?"
"How does it feel, Sakuya-chan?" Sigurd asked almost giddily, rising over her, gloating. "That I've arranged in a few weeks in this real world what you couldn't manage in a year in ALO?"
She met his gaze, lips pressed tightly together, expression set and determined in open defiance. They both knew what this was. He wanted her to give in. He wanted her broken. And Sakuya sensed that he wouldn't allow her to die until he accomplished that. She smiled spitefully.
"I'll believe it when I see it." She said with all the confidence she could muster. "Until then, you're all bluff, Sigurd."
She was expecting another strike. But instead, Sigurd merely chuckled under his breath. "Maybe I'll show you his head later Sakuya-chan. And then you'll see…" His left hand, cold, rough, testament that the curse that had ravaged his face had done the same to the rest of his body. He lightly parted a few stray hairs and stroked her cheek. Sakuya felt her skin crawl at his touch, at his leering eye. Hand moving slowly down, along the line of her jaw, her neck and shoulder "… that you made a mistake the day you stole the Sylphs from me Sakuya-chan."
"If I'd been Lord like I was meant to be. I wouldn't have to skulk in the shadows like this. It wouldn't have to waste time. I'd already rule our new species." With his free hand, Sigurd removed something from a pouch on his belt. It was all dark wood and glinting metal that unfolded with an oiled precision.
A knife, but no weapon, Sakuya could tell. If it was from ALfheim, it would have been a high class crafting item, something that Sigurd had probably bought to show off his status rather than because he had the skill to use it properly. "But you tricked them Sakuya-chan. You don't have the skills, you don't have the power to lead. The Salamanders gained dominance over us because of you. Forced me to abandon the Sylphs as a lost cause, waste all of my work. And because of that, I'm the one branded traitor! But they all still look at you, and admire you, and lust after you. Even though you've lined them all for the slaughter! That's the only way you could have beaten me." His breathing deepened as he twirled the knife with deceptive grace. "You're just a whore Sakuya! That's all you've ever been, all you'll ever be."
The knife flashed, grazing her cheek like a razor. A cut beneath her right eye, far more painful than its size would suggest, began to well blood to Sigurd's clear satisfaction.
"So", another flash of the knife, slicing another cut across the first. "I'll start by making you as ugly as me. So that nobody will want you. And then… only then…" He sounded almost delirious as his hands worked, pulling the collar of her yukata down to expose the skin her of her shoulder to the knife, progressing lower before realizing that she wasn't going to give him what he wanted.
Sakuya tried hard not to show her fear, to keep her breathing level. She wouldn't have believed she'd had this sort of resolve before, not until it was tested. The knife shook in Sigurd's hand as he held it close, tracing options like a sculptor. "What should I take first Sakuya? An ear? An eye? What do you think?"
She held her stare, not saying a thing, just glaring at him until he began to tremble. He took her by the hair once more, a shriek of rage as he beat her head against the wall until she was left in a daze, skull pounding from the repeated strikes. "FEAR ME YOU BITCH!"
And then a sudden release of pressure as there came a creaking of hinges and a rattling of the iron door behind him. "Careful now, Norseman." A note of disapproval. "You're letting your composure slip."
That voice. Echoing in the silence. Where Sigurd had failed, it almost broke her. Vision swimming as she looked past the fallen Sylph into the darkened hall, at the man, the Sylph, who stood there. His armor was of the same high quality as Sigurd's, sleeker, denuded of vanity for the sake of function. His features were much the same, handsome enough, but in the way that most Fae were attractive rather than any excess of beauty. It was a face she'd grown familiar with, but now realized had never really known. And seeing it here and now told her everything was lost. If even her own guards had betrayed her.
"Ephi?" She squeezed her eyes shut, drawing in a pained breath. It wasn't possible. But at the same time, it made so much sense that it hurt. The Sylph Mob Patrol leader had been so eager to take up the chance to assume command of her guards. Now, it seemed, too eager. Novair and Liliana, Alicia's subordinate Tobi. "This was all so you could get to me?" They'd killed so many, just so that they could do this?!
Turning to face her, noting her for the first time like a cut of meat. Ephi's gruff and dutiful attentiveness had been shed replaced by an amused smile. "Don't flatter yourself, Sakuya-sama. We didn't do this just for you." He crossed her arms as he leaned against the wall beside the door. "And the name is Ephilates."
She couldn't have cared less what he wanted to be called. The fact that a traitor had been sitting that close to their hearts. So casually. Maybe Mortimer had been right to hold everyone and everything in suspicion. Had she made a mistake in reining him in? Had she killed them all?
Sigurd noted her despair and realized that he had found a chink in her armor, a way to hurt her. "We needed someone on the inside. Someone who could learn Mortimer's travel plans, his guard layout, and of course, retrieve a sample of his blood."
'Blood?'
"You're going to spoil the best part, Sigurd-sama." Ephi warned, head nodding down as he gave Sakuya a sidewise glance.
"It's hardly spoiled when it should be done already." Sigurd grunted, rising from Sakuya's bedside. "Then if you are here, we have the Princess?"
The Princess? The Princess! Sakuya's eyes widened, an act that her captors mistook for surprise. And it was, of a sort, but it also meant hope. Not even Ephi had been privy to this, it had been kept secret, known only to the people involved directly. The glimmering chance that they didn't know the poison they had just swallowed.
They had known that they couldn't plan for everything, that there were eventualities that couldn't be accounted for, scenarios that couldn't be predicted. Despite their best efforts, there had been no guarantee that the conspirators would not succeed with their plans, in whole or in part. And so it had been decided to lay a trap of their own.
Dangerous, both politically to the Fae and the Crown if it was discovered too soon, and to the brave volunteer who would take Henrietta's place for the duration of the Gala, acting in her place until it was time for the official announcement, when the real Henrietta would be best protected.
It had to be a Faerie of course. Their hardiness and powers of flight gave them the best chance of survival and escape. The choice had been between the Spriggan Darkness Mistress Shirishi and Sakuya herself. Both could maintain the demeanor and bearing, and both had the experience in etiquette to make the masquerade work where all others would fail.
Sakuya knew Henrietta and her mannerisms better than the Spriggan mage, but she would be expected at the Gala and was deemed too important, too valuable, to endanger herself needlessly if things went wrong. But if things went wrong in just the right way, if the double was captured and carried off, or even Henrietta herself, the conspirators might not realize until they'd brought her into their den, searching tracer and a team of Royal Guards hot on their trail.
The high conspirators, it had been reasoned, would want to claim credit, to deliver the Princess themselves in order to garner favor. If that happened, the conspiracy might well hang itself for them.
She clung to that glimmer, desperately drawing strength from it until Ephi spoke once more.
"And no one suspects you?" Sigurd asked.
A confident nod, one hand rubbing at a red patch of skin peaking up past his collar. "Once I handed Sakuya-sama off, I made certain to use a dart on myself as well. They assumed the attacker got the drop on me like the others and think that I'm searching for Sakuya-sama right now. But I did run into trouble on the way back. In the catacombs."
"Oh?" Sigurd growled softly.
"A Searching Tracer. Spriggan class. They must have wanted to keep their Princess safe." Ephi explained to Sigurd's hiss of indrawn breath. "Don't worry, I neutralized it before it got too far. I left the stealth cloaks with the remaining spec ops, they'll wait in ambush for a while in case anyone comes through. " He shook his head. "In that dark, they'd need a master Hunter or Assassin with them, or they'll be ganked before they know it."
Sakuya felt her last hope shattering, spirits plummeting. Their own plan turned in on itself by the last minute contributions of a traitor in their midst. One who hadn't even known the details. She could only pray, as long as Shirishi's identity was unknown, that she would have the chance to escape.
"The one in charge wants to see us." Ephi explained. "Wants to know if there's any other spells that could have been used to follow her."
"She was kept blinded, wasn't she?" Sigurd looked lost in his own thoughts. "Peeping wouldn't work if she couldn't see. And Scrying needs an open sky… We planned to keep her here until things die down anyways."
Ephi shrugged casually. "I couldn't say. All I know is that they want to hear it from you, Sigurd-sama."
A look of agitation and disgust crossed the fallen Sylphs face. The knife spun in his hand one last time and then was folded and pocketed without a word. He cast one last look to Sakuya before reaching for his helmet, dawning the helm and his gloves once more to mask his disfigurement. "We'll have plenty of time to finish this later Sakuya-chan. Come along, 'Spartan'; we need to present ourselves to our clients. And make sure to have someone posted here to keep watch over our  guest ."
There was nothing more said as Sigurd turned to the door, storming out in a billowing of his cloak. Ephi followed after him, but then stopped, turning back to her like he'd expected the question she asked.
"Why?" Sakuya mumbled dully. "Just why, Ephi? Sigurd has his vengeance, but what about you?" What could he possibly gain from this?
"Isn't that obvious Sakuya-sama." Blinking, Ephi tilted his head curiously. "I hate all of you people who want to take our new world from us." So simple and brutal. She'd thought she'd be ready for him to say anything. But not that. Turning back towards her, stepping back into the room.
Ephi clenched his fists, looking down on himself. "Since waking here, in this body, all I hear is how much people are hoping to find a way home. And the ones who don't keep bleating about that are busy trying to bring the old world here. As if we should want that. Why would I want a world that rejected me?" He smiled as he examined his own hand, admiring. "Every one of those cowards forgets that we're faster, stronger, better, than we ever were in that other world."
He turned tilted his head curiously. "You can't tell me you don't love this. How light you feel when you move, the strength, the speed. The way every fiber sings when we're in the sky!"
A painful truth that she wanted to deny. The long absent throbbing of her ruined hip.
And then a small smirk as he nodded to her partly exposed chest. "And I can't imagine you aren't a little pleased with other things too." A fact of VRMMOs that even randomly generated characters tended to lean towards the flattering. Ephi, tall and lean, who was modestly handsome by Sylph standards, would have been striking in Japan. "Why would anyone ever want to go back?"
"Family." Sakuya whispered, struggling to recall what seemed like a lifetime ago, someone else's lifetime. Maybe it was. Maybe Yamada Sakura had died on the day of the Transition, and Sakuya the Sylph was merely the recipient of her memories. Was that it? Would it matter? No. Moments wreathed in warmth, even when they were sad. "Loved ones, people who depend on us." Sakuya whispered. "Have you forgotten that…?"
The hate that raged in his eyes froze her tongue. Unlike Sigurd who wanted her to linger, Ephi looked ready to kill her at that very moment. "Those people." He sneered in disgust. "You mean the ones that gave up on me, mocked me? The ones who look down on a fa NEET? You think I wouldn't dive into this world to escape that!"
His expression turned vicious as he towered over her. It dawned on Sakuya that somehow, despite being bound and helpless, she had managed to threaten him.
"That's just it Sakuya-chan. The meaning behind the Transition." A laugh full of exuberance, and something dark. "Don't you get it? It changed the rules. The way things are now. I've never felt more alive than this. Thriving in this world. We who can take hold of this world for ourselves are the chosen. The rest who can't adapt are like what I used to be. They would have ignored me, discarded me. So why should I show them a hint of mercy?"
He looked down on her, eyes roaming in a way that Sigurd's had not. Not just content to humiliate her, they almost seemed to reminisce, to desire, held back by… by something… lingering fear and uncertainty of a former self. He shook it off as he reached over her, leaned down onto her until she felt like she was going to wretch.
"It's such a shame you had to stand in our way Sakuya-sama." He whispered down into her ear as his hand moved between them. Shock, rage, as she felt him. "I think you could have been one of the chosen ones. I really have admired you for the longest time. But don't worry, I'm sure I can convince Sigurd to give me a chance to…  taste  you,  all of you,  before he finishes  ruining you."
That might have been it, might have been what pushed her past the point of no return. Broke her. If not for what came next. "Of course, there's also that blonde I see around you all the time. Sigurd-sama is planning to kill a few of her friends in the chaos that's coming. Maybe if she survives I can have a shot at her."
At Leafa, and the others who would be vulnerable if this lunatic plan came to fruition. To mad animals that wanted to treat everyone else as their toys. It woke Sakuya, pulled her back from the yawning abyss. It had been aimed to hurt her. To kick her when she was down. But it had done something else entirely.
"Now I must be going, Sakuya-sama. Until later."
He stopped as he was about to tie a gag over her mouth, a measure to prevent her from chanting, or chanting competently in any case, as she laughed softly.
"Thank you Ephi-kun." Sakuya said. "I was almost ready to give up. But you just gave me a reason to go on."
"Oh?" Ephi looked surprised.
"Oh yes." Sakuya promised, binds straining as her hands balled into fists so tight that she drew blood. Her eyes burned with tears, all of the rage that she'd held balled up inside of her for the past months finally birthed into this world. "As thanks, I'm going to make you a promise Ephi. I swear to you that I will not die until I've killed you."
Ephi blinked rapidly and then with a small barking laugh, drew the gag tight until it cut at her lips. Standing, he leaned Takemikazuchi against the far wall, beyond all hope of reach. "That is something I would really love to see, Sakuya-sama." And then he was gone, the only evidence of his passage the echo of the iron door as it was shut.