The chamber was plain as can be, save for the unusual shape. Even the exit door opposite the entryway was triangular. Her attention quickly returned to the black-red swordswoman, though she intentionally meandered around the room before slowly re-establishing eye contact with a grin. 

The Sister gave an equal grin in return, shifting from her wide-legged resting stance to one poised for combat, lifting her blade and resting it on her shoulder whilst her left hand remained free. Open. Visibly itching to grab at something. Her smile was full of razor teeth and bestial battle-lust flashed behind her eyes.

For the first time, Zelsys felt some measure of understanding with a Locust Noble.

They both wanted to kill one another; not for the sake of murder itself, but to prove one’s will, one’s personal philosophy as superior over the other’s. What conversation would occur before the violence would serve as little more than setup for the real discussion, the one that would take place through mutual butchery.

The pillar-vault’s glyph had only lit up partially even with Zel in the immediate vicinity, and she was close enough to see why. Unlike the previous altars, there was no nozzle for a Fog-writing device, no basin to pour liquids into, not even a control handle. No, there was just a circular hole with a simple pictogram of a human forearm emblazoned underneath it. Someone’s forearm had to go in there to open it, and she wagered it wouldn’t be coming out. 

“Very nice,” the Sister chuckled condescendingly. “You’re good enough to deal with some infantry. Now, before I smear you over these walls, let me ask you something: Why?”

Zelsys gave no verbal answer, only raising an eyebrow. 

“Why’re you doing this? Don’t say it’s the money, I can tell you don’t care about the money. You wanna get famous? Is it plain power, like me? You got yourself a war-criminal lover you want to protect?” she reiterated the question, her voice echoing with undertones of frustration and genuine curiosity as she eyed Zelsys up and down, following the silver trails that traced all across her skin. 

Her combative grin spread to a malicious snarl, “Or maybe… You’re just like the Sage’s other projects, faking free will to better carry out your pre-determined task. You know you’re not a real person, right? You’re impressive, I’ll give you that, but it’s obvious. I’ve seen things like you. Worked on things like you. You’re a composite, a collage of the best features from who however many people had their bodies and souls maimed to make you.” 

Zel let out an indignant chuckle, “Really? I thought you were just some treasonous deserter that wanted to skip all that inconvenient meritocracy fuss, just skip right to the top by selling out your countrymen to man-eating bugs.”

Surprisingly enough, the grin vanished from the Sister’s face at the mention of cannibalism. 

“You’d love that, wouldn’t you,” she spat disdainfully. “An easy excuse to dehumanize us, to justify murder in your doubtlessly infantile mind. No, we’re very much human enough that cannibalism is a very bad idea.”

Zel mocked her in return, yanking at every string she could get her hands on, “Such civilized locust-men, you are. So you’ll just sweep across the valley wiping it clean of all plants and animals in your way, and leave the people to starve. Or will you, ah… What did one of the Red one’s servants say? ‘Breed us down into perfect serfs just barely intelligent enough to function, to consume, to serve?’ How truly characteristic of the Divine Emperor’s loyal terrorists.”

A conflicted mixture of facial expressions washed over the Sister’s face, from second-hand embarrassment, regret, pure seething rage, and even sadness, before she once again settled on a smug sense of superiority.

“It’s no wonder you’re so adamant. I bet you came out of the tank singing the Ikesian national anthem and praising the Sage of Fog. Sure, the drones are just meat golems, I’ll give you that, but how do you justify murdering deformed war veterans trapped in hostile territory? Have you considered that they might have been driven to what they became through the cruelty of the Ikesian natives?” she argued in a struggle for some subjective sense of victory.

It was then that Zel’s mental dam crumbled, and laughter came flooding out. 

“I-I’m sorry…” she stammered out between bouts of laughter. “I can’t help it, it’s… It’s just so amazing to me that you actually think I am insecure enough for existentialist horseshit to remotely phase me. Besides, I couldn’t care less about your sob story. You’re threatening the lives and futures of innocent people in the name of an enemy nation, and you’re clearly not planning to stop any time soon.”

“And how do you plan to stop us on your own?” the Sister rebuked, returning to an antagonistic approach. “Killing the Queen won’t just make the rest of us fall dead. It’ll just motivate us to make a new queen, perhaps out of that one-eyed blonde you entered with.” 

That wasn’t a very clever choice of words. It was an obvious jab, and though it failed to make her any angrier or more battle-hungry, it did shift her intentions from a fair duel to a cruel humiliation. She would do everything in her power to rip the Sister to shreds, both mentally and physically, before she delivered the killing blow.

“I was hired to exterminate, and that’s what I’ll do. And what do you know, I’ve got a filthy traitor to exterminate right here,” she said with a venomous smile, filling her left lung and emptying the right as she shifted her stance to place weight on her left foot.

For a moment they stood stone-still, each staring down the other. In the next moment, it began. The Sister’s sword came swinging down exactly onto her head with next to no telegraphing. With the capacity of her left lung Zel burned as much Fog as was necessary to start the Breath Engine and speed up her heartbeat, exhaling the rest for an aggressive sidestep around to the Sister’s back.