Chapter Twenty: To Force One's Way Through the Escalating Storm of Chaos!

While having three different groups of soldiers all patrolling the area made the walk tense, Richard and Claire were able to keep a low profile and navigate to the BMS-owned hotel where Voltaire had chosen to spend the night. Since Voltaire had already given Claire a keycard for his room and paid the hotel in advance, all Claire had to do was show the lobby staff the card to get in.

While his tech-savvy teammate was checking in, Richard saw Dan, Zach, and Troy waiting anxiously outside the hotel, and he motioned to Claire to follow him once she had finished. As soon as the leader of the Crimson Tengu Ravens had stepped through the revolving doors, he commented, "You have the look of tourists. Is there some sort of activity that you're looking for?"

Immediately, the three turned around. None of them had seen Richard's disguise beforehand, but they recognized Claire readily enough, and realized that if she wasn't with her "metal doggie", there was one person who would be with her. Dan grinned."Yes, sir—looking for a good time," he playfully answered. "Know anyplace we can find some action?"

"All you can handle…" Richard murmured in response as Claire scowled at Dan's joke. "Did everyone make it here okay?"

Zach nodded before adding briskly, "I have to admit, Aurino soldiers aren't as stiff as I was expecting—one even helped point out where the mess hall was when I got lost. We're able to sightsee for now, but they are going to notice if we don't come back…."

Richard nodded. "Don't worry; as long as the primary mechanic team doesn't suddenly have a Zaitron fall on them, and as at least a handful of you stay around on the ship, they aren't likely to make a fuss."

"So, we're in the clear to get the party started." Troy grinned as he cracked his neck. "Just where is the party, boss-man?"

"Good question," Richard answered. "Don't forget we don't have a precise idea on what's going on. We can't cover every part of Kravoda at once, and if we try we'll be too far apart to group up. Therefore, we should have some of us close to each of the likely targets. Just…" He grimaced. "…try not to look too suspicious. There's a lot of ways to get shot here…."

"Or devoured. Did you happen to see them throwing that big bird its 'kibble'?" Dan answered with an eye-roll. "Don't sweat it—it's not like I've never hung out in a spot with cops around before."

"Everyone keep in touch on the Codec as long as possible, but keep in mind that back in Costa Toro they jammed the transmissions. If nothing else comes up, we meet back here in an hour; immediately, if the lines get jammed. Good luck, gentlemen."

The three men nodded, and then turned and began to walk back into the streets, all three of them going in different directions. As they did so, Claire scratched under her hood again.

"Is everything clear yet? I've got to get out of this matted dry hay someone called a coat…."

Richard turned around to start heading to the room. "That'll be fine, but first I'm going to give it a once-over, make sure there's no spells, wiretaps, or anything laid out in the room. This is Rakthia, after all…."

"Oh, yeah right." Claire retorted, turning around and following after. "I bet you just want to set up some little 'anything's of your own, and catch me in that hot tub. You're a real pervert…"

The young man turned around in alarm…at least, as much as could be shown underneath his masks. He stammered for a moment before she grinned evilly. "Just messing with you!"

Richard glared back a moment, then rolled his eyes, turned, and kept walking. "Let's just get this done…."

The former prince supposed it made sense to make the buildings here either long-and-thin or with many floors, each with a larger footprint than the one below; the steep grades made expansions up- or downhill extremely expensive, since the structures would need flat foundations carved into the steep mountain, so one used every opportunity to expand the space before one started building farther up- or downhill.

At least getting to this particular hotel's rooms wasn't much of a problem. It had only two long hallways, one on each floor, placed between the rooms and the mountainside.

The key let them in without problems. In many ways, it was an older style of décor—the hotel clearly dated back decades. Made for a different set of people, there was more emphasis on tables and chairs than simply places to sleep, as well as places for storing clothing.

There was an actual wardrobe in the room, but no wireless transmitters or holo-televisions, even though there were places to plug them in if one brought their own. The sheer shortage of electronics made Richard's security sweep very easy; the only thing that concerned him was the thinness of the walls, which he hoped Voltaire would be willing to fix upon arrival.

"Seems safe," he said after finishing. He set down the large metal suitcase he was carrying.

"Good," Claire answered, pulling off her itchy coat. "Time to wake my guard dog up and get him scanning the layout."

As she sat down on the closer bed to pull off her shoes, she leaned over so she could reach the case, undoing the latch and popping it open with one hand: inside, there were many carefully-arranged metal gears, pistons, and electronics.

Claire gave a whistle, and suddenly the sound of generators igniting came from somewhere inside the tightly-packed mechanisms. A moment later, the pieces began to move, some of them coming together and connecting, others rotating or flexing, until a pair of paws had been assembled and extended out of the case, setting themselves on the floor.

Once there, they anchored themselves and pulled the rest of the system out while it was still assembling, with just enough room for the next two paws to touch down. The rest of the machine then rapidly finished the process, leaving Alphonse fully formed before the two of them.

Richard knew one of the utilities of a Jaeger Cog was its mobility, but even so, he was rather impressed. "Good thing he can't feel cramps."

"Eh, being inorganic has its pros and cons…just like being an organic being." Claire answered with a wink. Even though the Jaeger cog had assembled, its eye-lights were flickering, and it wasn't moving. Claire fixed that by leaning over and pressing a button on the edge of the Garou-type's ear. The eyes glowed red, the unit igniting to full awareness.

"Systems coming online. Running diagnostics check—all systems normal. Motors booting up—bootup complete. Loading previous state…." The machine's head turned slightly, looking around a bit, and then over to the armored man. "This is a hotel room, not a prison cell, Requiem; I therefore conclude that our mission has been successful so far."

Richard wondered if that had been the robot's version of a joke, but simply nodded. "So far so good, Alphonse. This place has a few more soldiers than I'd assumed, but nothing else unexpected so far. Alec Steel is here, too." He frowned a bit. "So that means what we do now is stake him out, and then be ready in case the Ibis Corps show up."

"I regret to inform you that I cannot assist; I do not have built-in camouflage, and, given the likely numbers of sentries who would notice unauthorized combat drones, evading security would therefore be impossible."

"That's fine—it's more important you guard Claire anyways, in case of surprises."

"Ah, you worry too much," the woman answered as she reached into the case and pulled out her computer. Alphonse got on the bed with her and lay down. "You're not letting me hack into the military terminals, after all, so, other than from monitoring you guys, I'm going to be stuck learning about things the same way everyone else does…if and when the news gets around to reporting about it, that is."

"It's my job to worry about it…" Richard muttered as he stepped over to the windows and looked out. Seeing only the room's private balcony and the roofs of some downhill buildings on the other side, he pulled the curtains shut and began to open up the window behind them as he continued to speak. "…that's why I'll also make sure a few of us stay near the hotel, and take a look around the area. Let me know if anything comes up."

"Affirmative," Alphonse answered before Claire could speak.

Richard half-frowned as he pulled out the fan concealing his sword from behind him with one hand; he then turned his gaze back to the balcony, checked once more to make sure no one was looking, and leapt right out from the window, leaving nothing but fluttering curtains behind.

Claire rose after a moment and then stepped up to the window herself, groaning a bit as she unbuttoned her shirt. She looked out through the gap between the closed curtains: on the far side of the neighboring building, she saw just a glimpse of Requiem running up over the edge with help from his enhanced 'armor' before vanishing. She then closed the window behind him and threw the shirt to one side.

"You know I don't like it when you answer for me," she scolded the machine.

"Do you intend to look over activity in the area?"

"In a bit," Claire answered flippantly while removing her jeans. "I'm not about to act like I agreed with him, thinking I need protection."

"The change in delay times between being in this room versus being in the Valro Caverns is minimal. Your being here creates another risk factor."

"You of all people know how careful I am, Alphonse," she answered as she undid her bra. She frowned. "Besides…you've seen the looks those guys give me. Since I can't do the heavy stuff, Dan and a few of his pals think I'm just being lazy and freeloading. I want to prove them wrong. I can't fight like them, but I can still help.

"Besides, this room is a lot cleaner than those underground ruins, and it has actual sunlight. I could really use a good relaxing hot tub session, too." She paused. "Speaking of that, how about turning on the water while I'm getting set up?"

"As you wish, Master."

The woman sighed. "I'm not even going to bother with the corrections this time." While the Jaeger Cog went off to the bathroom, she smiled a bit and leapt backwards, letting herself fall back on the soft, clean mattress. She finished pulling off her underwear, and enjoyed the feeling of newer fabric on her skin in a sunny, well-ventilated, fully-operational room for a moment. She sighed happily as she leaned her head back a bit more into the pillow, but her smile only lasted a moment.

"Those Ibis guys must be really full of themselves, to want to try and steal something under the nose of three armies," she mused aloud. "Then again, if they're really as tough as they sounded back in Costa Toro…."

"Is something wrong, Master Claire?"

The woman sighed and sat up, looking to her computer. "Just patching into the hotel's complimentary network—start small…."

And here I thought the only reason I'd ever be at one of these things would be to cross "do all three nations at once" off my 'things to do before I die' list, Voltaire thought to himself. Now I'm going to spend it working. I'll get you for this, Richard…. Heh.

The banquet was indeed in a banquet hall, although not of the sort most people thought of for soirees or galas; it was a renovated Rakthian mess hall from the fort that had stood there ages ago.

While it was interesting to be eating in the exact same structure where, a thousand years ago, cold, tired, thirsty, sick and beaten humans were sneaking in whatever half-rotten bread and grain they had on hand to prepare themselves for the next dragon assault, the fact that it had for years been a military mess hall for little other than sweaty soldiers with guns and death on their mind kind of diminished the 'charm'.

He had, however, underestimated the impact that the Thereon family could make. They had done up the place so nicely that he wouldn't have minded throwing a wedding ceremony in there; all of the rough, cold stonework had been decorated with banners, flowers, and the works, making it far livelier and more festive—a welcoming area, rather than a hollowed-out, ruined tomb.

The moment he stepped in, he saw a familiar face, hard at work. Kristen was almost barking her orders to a few lesser decorators, while her mother, Olivia, who looked to be every bit the same person, only twenty years progressed, was waving in the caterers. It was easy to see where Kristen got it; the two almost looked like time-displaced twins, the way they presided over every detail.

Voltaire strolled over to the nearest food-laden banquet table and eyed the cloth spread between it and its edibles. He gave it a light rap of his knuckle and listened to the echo, turning his head a bit and nodding. "Ivory tables?" he inquired, making sure Kristen could hear him. "Well, I expected you'd go all-out, but I didn't think you'd go quite this far to make everyone happy."

"After last year? Are you kidding?" Kristen called back over her shoulder as she reached out to fix a floral arrangement. "I heard the cooks were so lazy, you could barely tell the entrées from the hors d'oeuvres. They figured that was 'good enough', and nearly caused an international faux pas as a result—not going to have that sort of lax service now that my family has the reins, even if getting food from all three nations wasn't a picnic! Do you know how tough it is to find a genuine Rakthian chef who can prepare chestnut-roasted stag brisket back in the Aurino Republic?"

Finished adjusting, she turned fully to him—and with good reason, it seemed: Voltaire felt a shadow come over his shoulder, and turned to look for himself to see that the rest of the Aurino envoy was coming in. Olivia immediately started hurrying out the last-minute decorators while Kristen spoke up.

"Prime Minister, Princess, everyone, please make yourselves comfortable. I hope you all like the floral selection—that was my own touch. I thought I'd inject a bit more 'life' into the banquet hall, after how drab and droll it looked last year…although I suppose that's how most Rakthians pref—"

An elbow from Olivia cut the young woman off; she also gave her daughter a sharp glare.

It wasn't long before the others began to come in behind the Prime Minister, including not only the General and the Empress, but also the three delegations' escorts. They all fanned out a bit, using the size of the place to move around a little and take everything in.

They all hung near the door at first, no one seemingly wanting to be the one to break manners and dive in, which gave the decorators plenty of time to finish pulling out, the caterers to finish loading the tables, and the actual service waiters to come in and start taking positions.

After a time, General Trevelyan finally twisted his lips. "Too flamboyant. This is a somber event, not a spring festival …but… it's acceptable. After all, we are showing of all three cultures of the world…" He glanced to one side. "…and it's too much to expect everyone to be as principled as the Rakthian Empire, I suppose."

It seemed that was the only vote of confidence needed. Those from Jiodisa began to head to the food, and soon the waiters came forward and began to escort each respective guest to their respective tables. As it took some time to get through everyone, and as they made sure to serve the Rakthians first, Voltaire used the opportunity to inch up next to Nathan.

"I did read the program, but there weren't any surprises thrown into the mix, right?"

"I hope not," Nathan said with a slight smile as he stroked his beard. "I'm rather eager to eat. First comes the banquet, then the ceremonial antics, and finally the 'after-party'." He chuckled. "The party no one wants to attend. That's when we all hope we've had enough drinks to not be totally at each other's throats."

"So the ceremony is the best time; noisiest and flashiest, yes?"

Nathan gave a small wink. "I suppose, if there were a threat, that would be the most opportune time to strike."

It seemed this little "aside" had been a bit too loud, for Voltaire saw Gifford look up a bit at that. He grasped his weapon's handle. "Not to worry, Prime Minister. Nothing will happen to you, Princess Natalie, or any of the other guests."

That louder response, in turn got the attention of Richard's older sister. She sighed in some dismay, rather than relief, at that. "And I'm sure you and the Gemini twins will do a fine job protecting us all…if those two would stop fighting each other for ten seconds…."

She glared to one side: sure enough, Michael had said something inopportune or unwise again, and Michelle was simultaneously stomping on his right foot and twisting his left ear.

"I feel rather stifled by all this security. What's the worst that can happen—someone spilling their soup in my lap?" the princess finished. However, she paused momentarily afterward. "Then again, I wouldn't put it past Rakthia or Jiodisa to cause something, just to make us look bad."

"Well, we'll just have to keep our eyes open, to make sure we're not being made fools of, won't we?" Voltaire smirked as he leaned against a wall. "I don't suppose there've been any updates on any possible threats, have there been? Just making sure there're no flies in the ointment…."

Nathan narrowed his eyes before retorting soberly, "Nothing yet, lad, just a few…shady ripples in this pond. Like, say, over there."

Everyone heard a charismatic laugh, and Voltaire glanced to his left, to see Alec talking to both Rakthian and Jiodisan soldiers. The lobbyist glanced around before returning his gaze to Kaolin and Argo and reassuring them, "I know you all have your doubts, but I guarantee my products will exceed your expectations. Of course, I also know you need more than words to calm your doubts. Commander Argo, you can have your men test the new RMX Assault Energy Rifles and drones until you are content; Miss Kaolin, you can test my new super-strength serum on any monster you like to dispel any fear of a negative reaction; the potion my sources have worked out is quite flexible."

The woman in charge of the security of the Jiodisan Empress looked shrewdly at the blond-haired businessman before replying haughtily, "You have quite the catalog, Mister Steel; I don't think I've ever seen a lobbyist with so much to lobby."

The blond-haired man closed his eyes. "Well, they do call me the best in my field for a reason—I know what it takes to satisfy everyone. In fact, I have another gift to all you highly esteemed individuals—a contribution to today's festivities."

Abruptly, Alec leaned back and suddenly held up a hand. "Everyone, may I have your attention? May I have your attention, please?"

The room quieted a bit and looked at the individual. Voltaire gave a glance around the chamber. In spite of the scorn that the Empress and the General both seemed to have for Steel, plenty of other people on both sides —and, for that matter, on the Aurino side— immediately did as he said; it seemed he did wield influence on the other sides of the national borders as well. Perhaps even on the level he had in Aurino….

"So sorry to interrupt—I definitely don't want to steal anyone's thunder," he said with a slight chuckle, "but I just wanted to take a brief moment before I quietly resume 'mingling' for the rest of the ceremony to announce that, on top of everyone else's wonderful portions of the summit, I too am making a small contribution on behalf of BMS to today's festivities."

As the man gave a dramatic bow, the lights suddenly dimmed. This actually caused a hint of concern among the more nervous soldiers, such as most of the Rakthians, but that went away when a voice came over the loudspeaker, confirming this was all part of Steel's act—especially considering how jolly and festive the voice sounded, almost like an announcer at a circus.

"Ladies and gentlemen, in honor of the Humanity Unity Summit, we are pleased to provide for you a special performance!"

"I love a good bonus as much as the next man…" Voltaire murmured to Nathan, "…but I'm not sure this is the best venue for surprises. Somehow, I don't think the Thereons or anyone else in here planned this…."

It seemed the Magna Centurions were of much the same mentality; Gifford actually went for his weapon. However, in the midst of all of this, one individual remained totally unaffected: Empress Setsuko turned, saw the guards getting riled up, and immediately put out a hand. "Don't fret; he merely funded the appearance. This is my alteration. I thought the banquet could use a small skit to enhance the evening."

Everyone paused and looked towards the woman at that; not all of them seemed terribly credulous. The Rakthians were especially on-edge, particularly Trevelyan. "With all due respect, Empress, such a loud and noisy event as a skit, along with dimming of the lights, should have been approved by us first."

"This is hardly an assassination attempt, General," the woman calmly responded. "It's orchestrated by my own court jester, Yobbles Kalmoneus. He's been my primary entertainer for years; I can and will assure all of you that he won't produce a dismal performance."

Voltaire couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at that. So, in spite of her distant demeanor back at the docks, it seems the Empress does indeed have ties to Alec Steel as well—ones that might get him as close to Mandarin Xhao as he is to our king….

Spotlights came on, highlighting the back: there was a black pillar erected there that had stood for at least a good two hundred years; engraved on it were the names of everyone who had fought and died on the grounds of the mountain fortress in the years spent at war with the dragons.

It also seemed to be the centerpiece of this performance. People in robes began to spill out from behind it as if it was a clown car, each one dressed slightly differently and their faces concealed for the performance. They quickly took positions in the open space around the pillar, and posed themselves.

A plump man in an elaborate multi-colored outfit then strolled out as well, clearly dressed to show his higher importance. His true age and features were impossible to discern, as he was wearing a white mask sculpted with a permanent smile.

His grandiose movements, between the balance and poise, were clearly meant as performance art. He waltzed out before the pillar and stopped, then swept his right arm in a grand circle to the side. The room was quiet as he began.

"To honor those who gave their lives to liberate humanity from the tyranny of the dragons, we have a rare treat for you this evening! We are proud to debut in Krovada with the latest in holographic interactive morphing media, and to present to you a reenactment of the last battle that took place here, centuries ago."

"You even provided for the entertainment? How thoughtful; you must really want to rake in the deals, eh, Mister Steel?"

The man Richard so desperately wished to confront gave a small bow in return. "Guilty as charged, Prime Minister. To make a profit, I need my buyers happy, so a little spending to give good impressions is more than worth the cost.

"Sadly, I must attend to a few other matters before I can join the celebrations, but, until then, I hope you all enjoy the rest of the show; it should turn out to be quite spectacular. Ah, there you are, Mister Strickland—let's go downstairs to conduct our deal, yes?"

With another bow, Alec walked out the door with a few of his men, a blond-haired man in a red suit that Voltaire recognized as being his father's friend, Donald Strickland, and a few Rakthian soldiers that seemed to be tagging along. Voltaire and Nathan both eyed the path Alec took intently, but, before either could say anything, Yobbles suddenly produced a loud, jovial burst of laughter, which distracted them.

The early presentations done, Yobbles seemed to have loosened up a bit more, becoming less stiff and rigid. "We're about ready to get this thing started, folks! Don't any of you worry; I'm a whiz at Kabuki theater. I always loved the idea of dragons; I mean, get a barbecue or a deep-fry any time I want it? Who doesn't want that?

I do always wonder why they wanted to eat humans so much, though. I mean, sure, it was horrible and tragic…but it also showed they must have had no sense of taste. I was doing a somersault once, tripped up, and took a big old bite out of my own left foot. If I'm any judge, I think a dragon would spit me out, gargle a few gallons of mouthwash, and slash the waiter that had served me up."

These jokes were met with laughs by most of the audience. Voltaire was cringing, however—a live stand-up piece from a masked jester definitely wasn't his thing. He turned slightly to whisper to Nathan, "You know, the last time I saw a Kabuki theater, I nearly got assault charges for my attempts to keep my date from leaving, so, since we're not doing anything big, I'm going to stretch my legs a bit." He smiled. "If Mr. Steel can play the crooked lobbyist part at a summit, why can't I?"

Nathan eyed Voltaire a moment, the wheels in his own head turning. "Sounds fine to me. Oh…how about you take this?"

He raised a hand from under his robe, and passed along what looked like a black data card. Voltaire looked up to him momentarily.

"It's a…map, of sorts. Wouldn't want you getting lost while sightseeing, would we?" the old man went on with a wink. "And it'll allow you to stay up-to-date on things."

Voltaire grinned and accepted it, slipping it into his pocket. "Thanks, Lord Zilos."

The red-haired man turned and began to walk out. He thought of saying something to Kristen and the princess, but Kristen was ignoring the performance entirely and rambling about her preferences in carpets, and Natalie was already moving over to chat with Setsuko.

Knowing he had a schedule to keep, Voltaire shrugged and settled for moving over to the banquet table to snatch a mini-loaf of garlic cheese bread. By the time the stage finally ignited enough to form a volcano and various coiled dragons, he was gone.

As Yobbles and the other performers began their energetic reenactment, Richard was still roaming around the city. After a while of wandering aimlessly around the western slopes (in hopes of stumbling upon a threat without being discovered himself) and finding nothing, Richard stopped in the west side of town to check on his crew.

After learning they had encountered nothing but stubborn beggars, the prince eyed the fort where his uncle, one sister, and the other attendees were, and muttered, frustrated, to himself, "Tsk—I suppose just hoping to uncover something was a bit too…well, hopeful.

"Still, Alec's no street thug; if I just charge in and try and to force a confession out of him —even if he admits to something— it'll only be seen as a masked man who broke in and attacked high-ranking officials from all three nations, and that's paramount to suicide. Nevertheless, I can't just let the chance to get him back slip away; there has to be some way to…oh? "

As Richard was wondering what he could do differently, he got a lucky break: a man in a suit and shades that he remembered walking alongside Alec was strolling past with a squad of Rakthian soldiers, one of which looked like some sort of high-ranking officer. As they moved off to Richard's left, he shrugged, decided it was worth a shot, and began to tail the group.

None of them stayed around for long. After talking for a bit, the soldiers and their accompanying civilian looked around, seemingly to make sure not only that there were no more military personnel but no cameras present, then assembled and marched off, taking a street that led away from the fort.

Tailing them wasn't too hard. Clearly, they'd recognize they were being followed if they spotted him in his flamboyant getup, but there were enough places to quickly dart out of the way while trailing them to render that moot; the landscape was so uneven there even were hills and valleys in the road itself to hide behind or in.

There were security cameras and snipers to worry about, yes, but it seemed these soldiers knew how to stay well out of view of both, and were clearly doing so intentionally. They also kept to less-frequented streets as they walked along, making sure to stay where there weren't any witnesses, including beggars. While he had originally followed them mostly out of a lack of options, as he followed the men Richard began to feel suspicious.

Eventually, the group stopped in one of the older and more desolate parts of town. One could hear the wind singing through the old, half-broken windows and see signs of rot and chipped paint on the surrounding buildings. In their midst, made out of native stone and imported concrete, was an old Krovadan garrison.

One would expect all such buildings to be occupied at a time like this, but it was worth noting that this one was rather far from any officials or airships, and that with the way the wavering, rolling cityscape went, it was almost impossible it to see from a distance, even if you knew where to look.

On reaching it, the officer in their midst stepped forward and opened the door. The soldiers and the man in the suit stepped inside; Richard noticed they didn't bother checking him for weapons first.

The young man waited a minute or two to see if anyone would come out, but no one did. The building remained silent and dark, as if it was abandoned or unused. That was enough for him. Narrowing his eyes, Richard reached for his Codec and activated it.

"Jade Hawk, are you able to talk?"

There was a moment's pause. "Just managed to get out and bag a bit of fresh air, my man. What's up?"

"Do you know if there's anything special about the western military garrison?"

"Not exactly…but if memory serves, most of the military garrisons in this town were built out of existing structures, and they go deeper into the mountains—after all, if you have an outpost against dragons, you might need to get underground in a hurry. Why?"

"I just caught one of those men who were with Alec entering this one," Richard answered ominously, "and they were with a group of Rakthia soldiers. This can't be good. Cipher Raven, you picking up anything unusual?"

There was a much longer pause of silence this time. Richard nearly repeated the question before there was a groan. "Wh—what? Huh? Why are you contacting me?" Claire griped. "And what the hell did you just call me?"

Richard couldn't help but sigh. "You said your last code name didn't sound 'intelligent' enough, and we agreed on this one. Please tell me you didn't forget already…."

After a brief pause, he heard a small giggle. "Oh yeah, right. I totally remember that. Yeah, what do you want?"

Richard nearly facepalmed. "I asked if you picked up—"

"Oh, yeah, yeah, that…" There were sounds of a few keystrokes. "Nope—nothing here noteworthy; just vagrancy and drunkenness. Of course, I'm still only on their public network…."

"I can lend a hand with that, my dear," Voltaire answered. "Our…well, contact, gave us a data chip that should allow us access to the Aurino Military network."

Richard heard an exclamation of glee on Claire's end. "Really!? Well, don't just stand there, man! Transfer the files already!"

"Hey, hey, don't get too revved up. Look through it all you want, but make sure you keep in mind the tagging of users. And don't change anything, or the military will pick up on it and—"

"Yeah, yeah, and make sure my connection is secure . What do you think I am, an idiot?"

As if to accent that, a splash was heard.

"What was that?"

"Nothing that'll slow me down. You want to transfer it, or just stand there all day?"

Voltaire sighed, but began the transfer. Soon after, however, Richard, Voltaire, and Claire all recoiled as they heard a rather loud yell over the Codec. Richard nearly yanked his off in pain.

"All right!" Troy had bellowed. "About time things started picking up—didn't come out all this way for scenery!"

Richard muttered to himself about how everyone in the group had to have heard this exchange over the Codec, but then realized it also meant there was still no signal jamming. After what happened last time, he wanted to be more cautious than before.

"Don't anyone get too excited; this isn't anything yet, and even if it does end up being something, I'll need to evaluate the risk, so I'm be going in solo for now."

Richard expected to hear more than a few groans in response, but instead he heard a different voice cut in, sounding a bit nervous. It was Zach.

"Yo, Requiem…uh…the guys back here are watchin' to make sure we don't try another shore leave; seems it's our shift. One dude just told me the Mjolnir captain put out a call wondering where we are. What do we do?"

Richard paused only a moment. "Take most of the group back to the ship —we don't even know if you're needed yet— but keep at least a few of you out. If you run late, just…say you had to lose a beggar, or something. They'll only suspect something if it's more than a couple.

"I've got to get going now; those men already have a head start. Stay sharp; I'll let you know how the situation evolves, provided they don't jam the lines."

Switching off his Codec, Richard drew his concealed sword from his back, though he left it concealed inside the fan. A moment later, he turned and advanced on the garrison.

As the former Magna Centurions Apprentice acted on gut instincts, Voltaire's twin desires to do his own scouting and to avoid hearing whatever Yobbles had to yak about led him to some of the town's canals. Voltaire was unable to find Alec Steel, though he did find numerous ideas to spread his family's business. He also quickly ended up near the Mausoleum, which was in the lower districts of Kravoda.

The lower elevations here seemed to be less of a draw to the higher-income population; hence, the homes and businesses looked a bit more worn-down in this district, and, as bad as Richard had thought his own search area was, this had far more beggars.

However, there was less smog from industrial stacks, and although the runoff channels were ugly to look at, there was also a lot of running water converging here from the more picturesque waterways. Besides, Voltaire didn't care if it was low-income—it was farther away from the summit attendees, and that meant he got a greater measure of peace from the press.

At the moment, he was standing on a footbridge over one waterway, using the natural water flow to obscure his voice as he spoke—one never knew who would be listening. There was one thing in particular that had drawn him to this particular bridge. Looming ahead of him, about a block away, was the front entryway to the Mausoleum's grounds.

Quite impressive, for ancient architecture.

He could actually see it rising up and out from amongst the smaller buildings, far more majestic and better maintained than the temple in Costa Toro; the colossal waterfall framing it, spilling down on a massive rock and splitting to either side of the building, helped with the former.

There was a myth that most dragons had hated water; that the mere sight of it would be offensive to them. That was, supposedly, why the structure was still standing after all this time, sheathed behind its curtain of fluid and mist. He realized he should have come here from the start —after all, this was the spot Nathan suggested would have the Emerald— but still, it seemed pretty quiet….

A tug on his coat distracted his thoughts. Blinking a bit, he looked to one side.

A rather miserable-looking homeless child was staring at Voltaire. In spite of the altitude and climate, the kid was totally nude, dirty, and with a belly shrunken to the point where he was starting to look like a mummy. He had his hands out in a cupping motion.

"Scouting for charity, eh?" Voltaire mused. "Looks like everyone's scouting for something, today…." He sighed and rummaged around in a pocket. "Bad luck, kid—I don't have much in the way of local currency…. Here you go; don't spend it all in one place."

He pulled out a Gri coin soon after, the standard currency of Rakthia. A single Auro was worth a hundred of them, but then again, the GDP around here was rather low to begin with. He tossed it out, and the boy caught it. He looked down for a moment, stared at the coin silently, then looked up again. His hands raised a bit higher.

Voltaire sighed. "You don't even have pockets, kid; someone's going to crack you over the head and take that from you. I can't just pass out money randomly, or everyone will be out for me." On seeing no change in the boy's expression, he threw his arms up. "Why the hell am I even bothering to say this to you? Can you even understand a word I'm saying?"

The kid only continued to stare. However, he stopped a moment later, hearing something tinkling on the ground. He snapped around, and saw that two more coins were rolling on the footbridge, threatening to go into the water. Quickly he dove for them.

"There, kid. Have a nice dinner!"

As soon as he had snatched both, the boy looked up, smiled, and then ran past Voltaire, across the bridge, and back out onto the streets. Voltaire, meanwhile, looked up to the source, and saw where the money had come from: both Dan and Troy were walking up, side-by-side.

He smiled at them. "Thanks for the donation, strangers—always dandy to see those with kind intentions."

"Stuff the clueless act, Jade Hawk." Troy snorted, cracking his neck a bit.

Voltaire's smile vanished: he didn't have a mask on, so if Troy was still calling him "Jade Hawk"…. He stared a moment before suddenly snapping to Dan. The other man merely looked innocent, then snorted as well. "Think I'm the only one with two brain cells to rub together in the group, Mr. Joachim? I didn't tell him crap, and I didn't need to—kind of hard not to figure you out, with just that little mask."

The man winced. "Well, thank you for pointing out I'll need a better one prior to hiring new recruits."

"Wearing a cheaper coat might not hurt either." Dan chuckled. "You're certainly on-edge. I'm honestly shocked your pops doesn't keep guard dogs on you, after they declared you a hostage back in Costa Toro."

The man smirked a bit. "What can I say? I hate chaperones; Father learned that quite well after one broke up a date. Bottom line now is, so long as I do my part, he won't complain." He gestured to the two Ravens. "I admit, I didn't think you would be the type to dabble in philanthropy…."

"Still making an ass out of you and me, eh?" Dan snapped back. "I noticed something, growing up: those food delivery men? They always liked delivering to poor people better, not rich. And you know why? The rich guys would stiff 'em, every time; us poor people would pay ten Auros for a five-Auro order. Growing up with nothing really helps you appreciate other guys trying to get by. Besides, what the hell am I going to need Ratkhian currency for, after this is over?"

Voltaire laughed. "Well, at any rate, all three of us are probably at the best place to watch." He gestured ahead. "The Mausoleum is right there."

"You seem to be the brains in this outfit, man." Troy spoke up. "You think that vault has what the Ibis Corps wants, or not?"

Voltaire looked at the forked waterfall "It's not like I'm privy to what's inside the Mausoleum, but it does contain some rather legendary treasures. Once more, the die has been cast; we just have to see what everyone's hands are."

"I hope they show their ugly faces," Troy muttered, pounding one fist into the other. "I still gotta pay them back for making us look like fools…."

"Easy there, McGuire," Dan muttered back. "I'm more interested in making sure no more of our bros take a dirt nap. That means don't go charging in 'guns blazing'."

The big man spat to one side. "I got it, Nicholson; I just hate just waiting around like a damn fool! Do we know anything solid or not?"

"Patience can be a virtue. Sometimes you've just got to sit and wait things out," Voltaire answered with a shrug, "but at any rate, since nothing's going on here, I'm going to have to bow out. I am supposed to be at a banquet, after all, and they're only going to miss my absence for so—"

Voltaire was cut off by a rather loud splash: something large had jumped or fallen into a pool of water. It came from the direction of the Mausoleum; he immediately turned and looked back to it, just in time to see the accompanying disturbance in the waterfall die down.

Troy and Dan spotted the splash easily, although they hadn't seen what had made it, and the three knew that they hadn't imagined it a second later, when most of the soldiers posted around the entrance on the other side of the gates turned and began to advance on the front of the structure itself: they had obviously heard it too.

"I'll admit I don't get out much, but I don't think waterfalls are supposed to do that…." Dan commented.

"You thought right," Voltaire answered as he saw the soldiers begin to file in. "Reduced guard—most of them are at the summit, especially now, during the banquet…and they wouldn't be going in unless they thought there was trouble. Perhaps our wait won't be so bad…."

Troy grinned from ear to ear, smacking his fists again as he cracked his neck. "Lucky me…."

The red-haired man frowned. "Don't be a fool; assuming this isn't some sort of practice drill, three of us charging in there alone could be a disaster—especially without word to the others." On that note, he reached up to his Codec and tapped it.

After waiting for a moment, he spoke into the receiver. "Requiem, we might have a situation here; we just saw a splash in the waterfall entrance to the Mausoleum. Not quite sure what it means, but evidently the soldiers posted here thought it merited an investigation."

There was a momentary pause, then a curse. "Damn—I'm still tracking the guys in the garrison. You think it's an attack?"

"No way to tell from here; we'll have to investigate further." Voltaire paused and sighed, not liking the shape of this already. While it could be nothing, he honestly didn't believe that. "Since you're in the middle of something, we'll just have to check it out now, while there's still a window of opportunity."

There was a pause on the other end again: obviously Richard didn't like the sound of this either. A loud sigh finally came through. "Recon only, and be careful."

Troy's eyes gleamed as he grinned again. "Now that's more like it—it's go time!"

"Actually, Brown Raven," Richard immediately interrupted him, "I think you should sit this one out. I'd like you to head back to the hotel and keep an eye on Cipher Raven; make sure nothing goes after her. I'd send Jade Hawk, but he'd stand out too much."

The big man's look deflated. For a moment, he registered nothing but shock at that. It quickly gave way to fury, though, as he gnashed his teeth. "Are you kidding me? You don't want me as part of the damn strike team!?"

"This isn't a 'strike team'—it's recon." Requiem snapped back. "And your skills make you the best suited to be the guard. You can take a hit even better than me; if things take a turn for the worse there, you'll still be standing at the end of it. I'm trying to avoid casualties and cover all the angles."

"He's got a point, man," Dan threw in. "If this ends up being nothing, you'll just be even more revved-up, am I right?"

Troy paused. He looked to both Dan and Voltaire, but they looked back innocently, as if to say Requiem had a point. The masked warrior had been complimenting him, in a way; touching on his ego in case direct orders wouldn't work.

He still seemed sore about it, but the praise that he was better than Requiem at something seemed to sway the leader back into his good graces. He spat on the ground and grumbled.

"Only because I'm hungry and want some high-end grub out of this."

"Thank you. All right, I'm about to head underground; it might be tense in the next few minutes. Requiem out."

A blip in everyone's Codec signified him signing off. Troy grumbled again, but then looked up to Dan and Voltaire. He let out a sigh. "All right, I'm out. Have fun looking at doors, Nicholson. Later."

Turning around, the big man began to trudge off. Voltaire and Dan went the opposite way, and quickly crossed over the bridge before turning to begin to approach the Mausoleum. The red-haired man looked over his shoulder after a few moments, making sure that Troy was gone. Only once he was certain did he turn back to Dan and speak quietly.

"Thanks for helping out back there; I'm glad you see why Requiem gave him that assignment."

"No sweat." Dan nodded. "Troy is great in a brawl, but we don't need him getting carried away when we're surrounded by three militaries and pushing our luck. Speaking of which…" He looked fully to Voltaire. "…how do we get in? You got some sort of preset warp spell, or a boat to take the streams around it?"

"It's a lot simpler than that." Voltaire chuckled slyly. "Only the lower levels are sealed off; the front entrance and first floor are completely open to tourists. Now, granted, it is supposed to be closed today, but it won't be the first time I've gotten in somewhere pleading ignorance, even in a country like this one."

"And we can just go right past the guards with that excuse?"

"So long as we don't do anything stupid, such as look like a spy."

Dan grinned. "Good thing we're just so naturally charming…."

Richard was glad he hadn't slacked off when learning spells for deception, concealment, and quick movement, because he ended up following the men for quite some distance.

It turned out Voltaire's guess was right: this was indeed one of the garrisons that went far under the mountain. Fortunately for Richard, it seemed to indeed be abandoned, so he didn't have to worry about sneaking around guards or cameras while hunting his quarry.

As soon as the group he was pursuing got to the basement, they cut across it, straight to a long underground passage. Richard was far from having a perfect internal compass, but he knew enough to realize they were going towards the mountain range's center.

A few minutes later, both Richard's quarry and Richard himself came to an area that was most certainly part of neither a ruin nor an outdated military garrison. It split into multiple branches up ahead, and past them the main path opened into a far wider and better-illuminated passage.

Richard had to hold back here, only slowly advancing until he could get into the nearest side branch that could accommodate him, but as he neared, he realized this area wasn't made of stone or concrete, but newer steel. It was a miniature hangar.

What was more, it was far from abandoned; there were men already here, most of them mechanics, and a surprisingly large number of war machines.

Most of them were Grizanaughts; while Richard knew those things were fairly common on the black market, there were too many here and too many of them looked new for that source to seem plausible.

This had to be a Rakthian action…and the fact that he could see trams and carts loaded with rather expensive weaponry being moved around and loaded into the machines was definitely not good….

The group of men moved up to the nearest machine and halted nearby. The one in the suit began to look over the machine intently, seeming to study it. That gave Richard a moment to tune his Codec to pick up the audio, and soon he started to hear their voices coming back.

"Now, you're sure you can deploy these units without detection?"

"They can easily move into position without arousing suspicion," a man with a Rakthian accent answered, obviously one of the soldiers. "By the time someone figures out they aren't the normal group, it'll be too late."

Another soldier advanced and gestured. "This one right here is a Sakhalian Seeker type, perfect for underwater operations—and there's an old waterway that runs right beneath the fort. After the initial assault, it will cause enough confusion for the larger Behemoth-Grade Class RX Barbados to move into proper position."

"So, all that's left is for our agent in the Zaitron to fire upon the summit." Alec's bodyguard spoke up again. "That'll give all the cause you need to take him out and start everything."

"And I'll make sure your own agents get rewarded handsomely if the operation is a success," a soldier replied. "The Czar must have lost his mind, putting that half-breed disgrace into such a position of authority…. Thankfully, it's a smudge I can finally remove from the glory of the Motherland."

"Well, our organization does pride itself on eliminating the corrupt…. You should depart soon; the change in shifts will occur in five minutes."

That ended the conversation; the man in the suit stepped to one side while the Rakthians continued to work. Two soldiers stripped off their standard-issue outer clothes, revealing pilot uniforms underneath. As soon as they had put their extra clothes to one side, they rushed off to the opposite side of the hangar to get their pilot helmets.

Meanwhile, the last sets of armaments were loaded to a particularly large one in the middle. It was colossal in terms of how much ground it covered—at least fourteen by eighteen yards.

Richard could only assume this was the Behemoth-Grade Class RX Barbados. It definitely looked much larger and nastier than any Grizzly model, and brought to mind the "behemoths" that were rumored to have existed long ago. Its face was more canine, and its metal teeth had been honed for goring. That machine alone could probably level a quarter of the city.

Quickly, Richard tapped his Codec. Unfortunately, all he got for this was an earful of static: the jamming problem was back. Considering what that man in the suit had just said, as well as the fact that he had come to Krovada with Steel, that only served to confirm his worst fears of who was behind this.

Now Richard realized he was in a bad spot. He remembered their plan: don't engage; get word out to the resident military, and let them handle it. But he didn't have time now; he'd have to run back at least upstairs to get a transmission out, and if he did, who could he contact? The Rakthians likely wouldn't take it seriously—after all, how would anyone know about this unless they had broken into the garrison?

And even if he could manage to persuade them to take heed, by the time he finally alerted someone these units could already be mobile—they had said five minutes. As for Richard's odds fighting them alone, a mobile frame or even a base-level Grizanaught of the old Ursa model was one thing, but this was an honest-to-goodness mechanical monster, produced for all-out fleet battles; he wasn't sure he could take it out along with all of its friends. Maybe if he fired now, before they took off, and set off some of those munitions, it would make a big enough bang to ruin the whole operation….

A flushing sound came out through a closed door to his left.

Richard had just started to inch out of his cover and look for a tempting bomb; he turned his head to the side. The hallway he had hidden in had been unoccupied at first, but now a door had opened up, allowing a soldier with a shouldered plasma rifle to walk out, putting away a Rakthian magazine as he did so.

He whistled a tune for a moment…and then trailed off, as his eyes fell on Richard. For a moment, the two stared blankly at each other, neither moving.

Abruptly, the magazine went to the floor as the soldier snapped his weapon up and aimed. Immediately, he started to scream at him. Richard had never mastered the Rakthian language beyond a beginner's level, but he caught something to the effect of "hands in the air".

It didn't matter that he didn't understand the soldier, though—only that it was loud. The words traveled into the hangar; the techs and soldiers alike snapped to the hall just as Richard backed up out of it, trying to get farther from the Rakthian soldier.

As soon as he was spotted, the other rifle-bearing soldiers quickly began to go for their guns, although there weren't many of those; the two now in pilot suits had dropped theirs to strip their outer uniforms, and only three soldiers had been guarding the mechanics.

The officer called out something in Rakthian as well; Richard still couldn't understand most of it, only that he was asking a lot of sharp questions, including "who are you?" and "what are you doing here?". Richard allowed this bombardment for a moment, long enough to get out into the open, and then finally called back in his own tongue, "I heard everything. I won't be allowing you to attack the summit."

The Rakthians went silent; some of them didn't understand what he'd said, and stopped only in puzzlement, but a few clearly knew his language. The person who replied was neither the officer nor his men, however; it was the man in the suit, giving Requiem a glare that seemed more curious than uneasy.

"Your accent is too flawless to be one of the Czar's personal investigators, Magna Centurions wouldn't bother with an outfit, and I doubt Jiodisan assassins would be so sloppy. Off with the mask; let us see who you are."

Richard stared back silently for a moment; the slightest hint of a chuckle then came from beneath his painted mask.

"As you wish."

Snapping his hand up, Richard seized the mask and ripped it off. As he flung it to one side, his other hand went down and seized the rest of his disguise, tearing it off as well, and revealing the gleaming silver armor underneath.

This caused some small measure of alarm among the Rakthians, at least making them look stunned for a moment, before they began to shout to one another again—after all, as little as most people in Aurino recognized him, it was likely no one in Rakthia did.

The one in the bathroom raised his gun up to fire at Requiem's head, but Richard suddenly snapped around and lashed out with the fan, smacking him hard enough to make him cry out in pain and stun him momentarily.

Requiem then quickly lashed out with a kick to the gut, doubling him over, and finished by striking him on the neck with a chop of his armored gauntlet. The man immediately went down, but Richard didn't wait for him to land; he snapped back around and removed the now-broken fan from his weapon, fully revealing the blade of Auro Solais. A second later, it lit up with the glow of an Aura Edge.

The officer blinked a few times, then spat out something in Rakthian, before changing his tone to the one Richard had heard while eavesdropping. "Who are you? Who are you working for?"

"I work for Justice," Richard answered as his sword shifted to point ahead. "That is all you need to know."

"Requiem—the rogue agent that has been making waves in Los Midas?" the man in the suit suddenly asked. Richard couldn't help but turn when he heard someone call his adopted name, even if the rest of the Rakthians looked to him more in confusion than anything else. The man pointed. "Kill him!"

The Rakthians turned back, still stunned. Unfortunately for them, their delay in getting their guns out and firing was all Richard needed to intensify his Aura Edge spell and prepare to redirect incoming plasma rounds to one man in particular. Sure enough, when they opened fire a moment later, the force of his technique was enough to send most of the shots right back to their senders, shredding their weapons and causing the men on the other side to cry in pain—but, best of all, one of the shots was rerouted to hit the man in the suit in his gun arm. He cried out in pain and faltered, and Richard smiled beneath his mask. Someone to interrogate after this is done….

It seemed the average Rakthian mechanic wasn't more intelligent than the average Los Midas thug, for, rather than trying to shoot him from a distance or to recognize his spell, they blindly charged right at him.

That made things even easier. Richard didn't even bother using his sword, simply lashing out and smacking the first aside with a kick across the face. Another tried to come up from behind, but did little better. Requiem heard him coming from a good distance away, and in the end simply spun around, lashing out with his blade.

The end of the charged weapon sliced right through the barrel of the gun they wielded and into the arm on the other side. They promptly released a stream of curses in Rakthian and stumbled back. Brandishing the sword before himself again, Richard spun back around and deflected the next volley back, scattering most of the rest of the ground troops…

And then realized that they weren't quite as foolish as he'd thought. While the assault had been reckless, it had also given enough time for the real fighters, the two already in pilot garb, to quickly finish climbing into their Grizanaughts.

They had moved astonishingly fast, too. It wasn't even a moment after he realized the trick that both the Sakhalian Hunter and the Behemoth began to hum, a sure sign of their engines firing up, and their eye-like headlights glowed red as they both turned to zero in on him.

Terrific; they're definitely in a hurry—but, so long as they're here, they can't go all-out either, not without bringing the entire hangar down on themselves. That means the Hunter needs to go first….

Snapping out of it, Richard brandished his blade again and charged the amphibious Grizanaught. In response, the much-larger animal-like vehicle hoisted a metal paw in the air and swung it around and down, slamming the floor so hard that it released a tremor strong enough to make Richard and any mechanics still up stagger. Immediately afterwards, the Behemoth gave a deafening roar as it arched its horned head back.

It wasn't merely an aesthetic; it was designed to hurt opponents' ears, disorienting and stunning them. Combined with the tremor, it made Richard stop in his tracks, giving the Behemoth plenty of time to aim all the gun turrets on its legs and shoulders at him.

An instant later, a storm of larger plasma blasts flew at him. Gritting his teeth, Richard quickly leapt back, snapping him out of the way, and started running perpendicular to the line of fire.

That was a good choice, because it chased after him with volley after volley of plasma, ripping up the ground in his wake and soon forcing him to pivot and leap about like a frog, to keep from either being blown away or hitting a wall headfirst and then being blown away.

Okay…a blind charge obviously didn't work, and that guy apparently is dumb enough to make enough of a ruckus to alert outsiders…. Doesn't really help me, though….

The machine suddenly changed how it was unleashing its salvos, this time aiming ahead of Richard, in his path. He quickly planted both feet and pivoted, meaning to leap free…only for the Behemoth to swing down and land on all fours, snapping its mouth open.

As it gaped, Richard found himself staring into a core of burning plasma. Immediately, he aborted his jump and ducked, doing so just before a large, focused beam of plasma ripped right through where he had nearly been.

Fortunately for him, it seemed the thing was locked in place when it fired; in an instant, not only the floor plates, but the bits of machinery, some munitions, and whatever else happened to be in the way were all vaporized—but not Richard or Greymont.

All right, definitely don't want to risk getting hit by that. Time for a new tactic!

With the machine now locked in place, Richard rapidly squatted and then took off into the air, again using Greymont to assist him in a gravity-defying jump. As soon as he was at its zenith, his wand flashed as he let loose a new chain of arcane language.

His hand snapped back and swung around, electricity gathering in mid-air around him, gathering about his hand, and then condensing into a Magneto Rang spell that was flung straight at the Grizanaught's head.

Right before impact, the shuriken split into a handful of smaller ones. These promptly smashed into the metal armor, simultaneously cutting and electrocuting it. As they shattered and spread over its body, the entire machine, for all its size and power, actually spasmed and shook, faltering a bit. Richard, descending back to the earth and looking up at the Behemoth, dared to think for a moment it had finished it. That lasted only a second; it soon rose back to full height, its lamps blazing red again.

Richard winced. Anti-magic shielding; I might have known….

Luckily, it seemed his attack wasn't a total loss: rather than instantly renewing the assault, the machine staggered, its head moving around randomly and jerkily. It looked as if its targeting system had been fried, or at least needed a reboot. He wasn't going to wait to find out which; one good hit would….

His thoughts were cut off by the sound of numerous small rocket engines. Turning his head about to the source, he saw the Sakhalian Hunter was joining in, having deployed a salvo of its back-mounted rockets. Gritting his teeth, the masked man realized he had no choice but to dodge. He put his agility to work again, and started making relatively small, successive leaps back.

These rockets had guidance systems, but thanks to his short, erratic movements and their inferior maneuverability, they careened into and blasted only the floor where Richard had been a moment earlier with each leap. As soon as the last one had bitten the dust, Richard quickly chanted another spell, this time the Mana Fist.

He didn't direct it toward a war machine this time, but towards the more vulnerable ceiling. Upon its impact, a large section of the rock-and-metal surface broke loose and rained down as debris between him and the Sakhalin.

That should give it a harder time locking ont—

Again Richard's thoughts were cut off, this time by what sounded like a massive piece of metal lurching. He looked, and barely had time to register that only the ranged weapons' targeting systems must have been out, for the massive machine, in spite of its bulk and size, was now lunging through the air with one paw stretched out to crush him.

In a moment, Richard was smashed flat to the ground; it felt as if the ceiling and the quarter of a mountain above it had suddenly slammed down on him.

Greymont kept him from instantly being squashed like a melon, but even so the sheer speed at which he was knocked down, and then subsequently halted by the floor, gave him plenty of bruises and pain, and then the massive weight of the machine was fully upon him. It pressed harder, shifting more of its many tons onto him, and soon he heard groaning and grinding around him, as even Greymont's metal body had a hard time staying strong.

However, he caught a break: thinking that this wasn't actually going to successfully disable or kill Richard, the Behemoth's pilot reared the paw off of him, so they could swing it down with added force, in the hopes that that would do the deed.

That gave the former prince a moment to quickly spring to life, snapping himself up and raising Auro Solais. As the paw came down, his sword drove itself right through it as Greymont helped lock his limbs, which promptly shot through the steel flooring and were embedded in the ground.

An odd sight soon resulted: the tiny Requiem in his suit of armor with his sword speared into the massive Behemoth-Grade Class RX Barbados' claw and only quivering a little bit.

At that point, Richard wished his opponent was a real monster, one which would have reared back from the pain of the foot being impaled.

As it was, it wasn't long before he felt himself start to slowly lose ground. Even with the Grizanaught's odd angle and his enhanced power, he didn't have a prayer of holding this thing off forever…

Yet, in spite of his predicament, in the corner of his vision he saw the Sakhalin wasn't even bothering to circle past the debris. It had turned away, and was making for a side tunnel; no doubt one that led to a canal….

You won't escape me!

Fury suddenly surged into him, pushing his limits back. In spite of the seeming insanity of the action, he removed one of his hands from Auro Solais and slapped the ground, immediately infusing it with his Metal Morph spell: while the monstrous Grizanaughts attacking him might have had magic shielding, the floor sure didn't.

In a moment, the steel panels of the floor became as fluid and slippery as oil. The young man already had the massive war mech at a bad angle; with the sudden change to the floor, its feet gave way underneath it, and as it struggled to right itself, it eased off of its target.

That was what Richard had wanted. He immediately shifted the pressure on his blade and swung it around, cutting out of and then through the metal limb, slicing it completely off. As a bonus, the heat of his Aura Edge ignited the oil lines for the foot-mounted flamethrowers[P5] , and a minor blast resulted, distracting the machine's pilot further.

Quickly seizing the opportunity, Richard dove forward and to the rear right leg, going right underneath the machine's "belly" to do so. As he did so, he sliced through another line, this one for rocket-assisted jumps. It wasn't quite as bad as the first one, but its fuel ignited as well, and made the machine even more unstable.

Two limbs down; one more, and it shouldn't be able to hold itself up!

The young man quickly moved to finish the job with a follow-up slice, but was distracted when some more hydraulics hissed. He looked up towards the sound, and saw a bay had opened on the belly of the Behemoth, revealing additional plasma turrets.

The pilot, clearly desperate, didn't wait, starting to fire while they were still emerging. The young man planted his feet and braced Auro Solais. There was no time or space to dodge; he had to grit his teeth and deflect the blasts—and he had to do so too quickly to properly aim them back.

The Grizanaught was the one to seize an advantage this time. In spite of its damaged limbs, it managed to spring itself a short distance away, just enough to get out of the sword's reach, while continuing to pin him with plasma fire.

Once out of reach, in a whirl it swung around and aimed its full bulk at him. A moment later, it groaned and hissed as its pilot forced it to try another leaping move, lunging at him with its good paw outstretched.

Not this time! the young man thought as he grit his teeth. He kicked off the ground and launched himself right at the machine, beating it to the punch. He sailed right at the incoming limb and met it with the blade of Auro Solais.

Still charged with his Aura Edge spell, Richard forced it up while ducking his head, narrowly missing a head-on collision with the massive metal machine surging at him as he gave it the full fury of his spelled sword. As he hit the ground and went into a somersault, a clang rang out as the arm fell to the floor.

On coming out of the maneuver, Richard shot back to his feet and turned with a grin, expecting this to be the end of it. Much to his shock, the machine had already landed, pivoted around again, and lunged at him once more. It was groaning and whining from atop three damaged limbs now, but that didn't stop the pilot from using what was left, namely the mouth, opening it wide and smashing into him.

The sheer force, Greymont or no, left him stunned and dazed as he was ripped backward by the machine, stumbling on its stumps and bad legs, all the way into the nearest wall. It smashed him in headfirst with all the power the machine could muster.

Again Richard would have resembled a dropped melon without Greymont protecting him, but as it was, his armor was holding, even if the pressure had him almost totally pinned. The pilot continued to make the jaws press in harder, although he didn't try a bite—he didn't want to risk giving Requiem a chance to slip out. However, the light in its throat began to burn, preparing another plasma blast….

The machine was in prime position for a Flare Buster, and Richard nearly used it, out of shock more than anything…but he held off: that would be too much power, and might collapse the ceiling—and he needed to save his reserves.

Luckily, he didn't have to use it. Twisting his metal arm free, using the fact it had no flesh to pinch or bruise as an advantage, he again charged his wand and built up a second Mana Fist in its grasp.

As the Barbados' own jaws lit up with blinding light, and Richard's skin itched from the plasma buildup, he snapped his arm around and flung the blue sphere of energy right down its gullet.

At the last second, the pilot seemed to realize the problem and instinctively pulled back. It was useless for him, but good for Richard, for a moment later the head, neck, and over half of the torso suddenly exploded in a ball of plasma and shrapnel. Heat and energy poured over Richard, melting the wall around him into slag. The heat was horrendous even for his protected body.

Any closer and the machine might have covered him with molten metal, which would burn him despite Greymont's shielding…but luckily the blast not only annihilated the bulk of the machine, but also forced it back with the shockwave, snapping the newly-trunkless legs and waist backward and unceremoniously dumping them on the ruined floor.

The sharp echo and heat continued to rage through the bay for a moment, but Rakthia wasn't so dumb as to not have some form of kill switch on weapons like this—no use having their big war machine's assault kill its comrades, after all. The place was also well-enough ventilated for the smoke to clear quickly.

All that was left of the front half of the Grizanaught was shattered, warped, or melted; bits of it were still falling to the ground. The pilot was definitely dead—dead, and likely incinerated.

Another rush of rocket engines' noises hissed out, the tell-tale sounds of more missiles. Richard snapped his head to the sources, and realized the Sakhalian had turned back and was attacking again. In spite of the attack, the young man was secretly grateful: their attacking delayed their departure long enough for him to do something. Rather than trying to evade the missiles or mount another defense, however, he did something else, something that shocked the pilot: he actually charged right at them and it.

Orion makes this look so easy—let's see if I can pull it off.

Richard poured on his enhanced speed, closing the distance to the oncoming missiles in an instant. They corrected themselves to arch downward, but he was already halfway to the machine when they did that. If these were standard missiles, he knew, they would only activate at a safe distance. They had to be reasonably far from the launcher to detonate, and he was much closer now. That meant this should work….

Launching himself into the air again, Richard sailed forward in an arc, and landed right on top of the first incoming missile. Much to his pleasure, it kept sailing forward: it hadn't armed yet. Quickly, he launched off of it and to the next, and then from that to another, using the salvo as stepping stones, literally.

The pilot of the Sakhalian Hunter was stunned: he had clearly never seen anything like this, and did nothing but gape as Richard scaled his attack, charging him. As soon as the young man leapt over the last shot and sailed to the ground, now closer than ever, he snapped his blade out one more time, this time letting loose a Mana Wave.

Sure enough, there was a waterway where it had been headed—and now, seeing that its opponent was right before the machine, it snapped around and attempted to get into the water to flee.

It was too late. No sooner had its front half plunged into the water than the focused energy attack connected with its tail and cleaved it clean off of the machine's body. Sparks and light shot out from the exposed systems as the rest of its bulk shot into the water…and proceeded to float there pointlessly. Without the tail section and the primary dorsal generator, which had just been cleaved in two as well, it was dead in the water.

Richard gave a look around: anyone still in the room was either incapacitated or dead. Seeing that, he returned his sword to his sheath. Finally got some fruit from all that training, and no one here to watch… he thought with a mental sigh, …but I guess it is better that no one saw me to begin with.

They said they were waiting for a Zaitron to attack. Great—that means Steel really does have moles in the Aurino Military….

Richard decided to try the Codec again, but again got nothing but an earful of static. Perhaps it was jamming; perhaps it was simply him being so far underground. He switched it off, at any rate, and the static sound was instantly replaced by incoming shouting in Rakthian, from back the way he had come. He looked towards it and grimaced.

I suppose that, even if this place has sound dampeners, that guy made more than enough noise. And I'm pretty sure my disguise got vaporized. He looked a bit farther, this time seeing Alec's suit-wearing cohort. He was unconscious, but alive. For a moment, Richard stared at him, before finally groaning.

Let's just hope you get back to Uncle Nathan and Sis; you're no good to me rotting in a Rakthian gulag…and neither am I, for that matter.

Greymont, can you hold in a pocket of air for us to breathe?

No sweat, Boss. Why? Greymont replied instantly.

Because we need to find a way through this canal to the Mausoleum. I've got a bad feeling about this….

As Greymont complied, he ran forward and leapt into the water himself, leaving the Rakthians responding to the commotion to flounder and wonder where their mysterious attacker was going.

Voltaire seemed to know what he was talking about: while there weren't the normal tourist stops or traps associated with a historical site in Aurino, just a large, wide, and majestic stone hall stretching before them, there were also no security systems, locks, or bars to stop them from walking right into the main hall of the Mausoleum. It was a rather impressive work of architecture for its time period, but they weren't there to take pictures.

As their footsteps echoed loudly through the ancient halls, ringing more clearly and distinctly than any of them could ever recall, Voltaire noted something right off the bat: there should have been a lot more soldiers in there, and instead there was only silence.

The place felt creepier, the way they were simply walking in; after all, there was little light, and it simply opened into more halls on either side, spreading out inside the mountain.

Considering the size of it, Voltaire realized it would be a easy to get lost right here on the first floor, within the identical, symmetrically-placed columns…and the deeper they went, the more uneasy they felt at the lack of other sounds.

At length, Voltaire decided to risk some noise. "Hello?" he called out, his voice resounding and echoing for a few seconds before fading. "Is anyone here? Sorry to just pop in unannounced like this, but there seemed to be a bit of a show going on outside. Anyone care to let us in on the fun?"

"Vol—Jade Hawk!"

The red-haired man turned to Dan, and saw he had suddenly gone wide-eyed and was pointing. Voltaire looked where he'd gestured, and swallowed.

They had found the soldiers, as well as the staff: both had been piled up behind one of the columns, seemingly a randomly-chosen one. They were also quite dead, each one killed as easily and brutally as before.

Voltaire went rigid and stared for a moment; he was still getting used to the sight of death, after all. Dan's own shock soon gave way into fury as he clenched his fists and looked around. "Damn it. It's Costa Toro, all over again…."

"I'd appreciate it if you didn't jinx us; that didn't end well," Jade Hawk answered as he looked about. "Those wounds and the blood are fresh; they must have died as soon as they walked in…and you know who that means…"

Dan clenched his teeth and cracked his neck, putting a hand to his Codec . "Troy, Zach, Requiem…you copy?" He held a moment, his face tightening up. "Where are you guys!? This is a hell of a time for a nap!"

Voltaire grimaced as he touched his own Codec, then sighed. "Don't waste your breath; they've already jammed it again. They work fast."

"Then let's work faster! Come on!" Dan shouted as he took off to run.

Voltaire immediately reached his hand out and seized Dan by the wrist. "Forgive me for sounding insulting, but do you have the short-term memory of a fish?" he asked. "Or do you remember what happened the last time we went charging into one of these guys? And right now there's only two of us…."

Dan paused on hearing that: it seemed that not only was he eager to get retribution, but also less reckless when it wasn't just his life on the line. Voltaire nearly wanted to laugh: after all of his complaining about people jumping into things, Dan was now trying to jump in himself. Finally, the former gang leader groaned and looked back. "Well, what do you want to do? We've got to get out of here if we want to contact the others. And by the time that's done…."

Voltaire formed a thumb and gestured upward. "Upper floor—this stone's so thick, their jamming signal might be blocked out from up there. Look."

He then pointed ahead: sure enough, far in the back, in the midst of the labyrinthine columns that stretched on seemingly forever, there was a set of stone stairs, each step capped with metal. Dan looked back to Voltaire and gave a nod. "Right. Sounds good to me—let's go."

Immediately, the two men took off running for the stairs. Their path took them right by the pile of dead bodies; Voltaire, in spite of his unease and disgust, looked over them.

"Smells like hot metal in here…"

"You sure got a lot of respect for the dead, don't you?" Dan grumbled.

"I'm serious—I smell burning," Voltaire said as he ran by the corpses. "Like from electric motors. I remember the smell from hovercar wrecks. And some of these bodies are smoking as well as bloody…."

Dan said nothing more; he only continued to run. They soon reached the wide stairs and ran up them. The new floor they emerged onto was just as majestic as the one below, but here some of the better-known treasures in the collection had been spread out and put in special glass cases. They were likely rigged with alarms as well as being protected by the barriers and the (now deceased) security officers, considering how precious most of them looked.

As they got up the stairs, Voltaire thought he heard an echo from something like a thunderbolt or explosive blast ahead. Of course, he couldn't make out much over the noises of their footsteps and breathing. They soon arced around, back towards the front of the Mausoleum.

"Should be windows up ahead…." Voltaire panted as they entered a corridor which had been framed with large statues of past Czars of Ratkhia. All of it seemed to be leading up to a rather grand and large set of doors. "Based on the outside, there should be a veranda somewhere on the other side of that."

Dan said nothing; his face had turned grim again upon seeing two more dead bodies, soldiers this time. Despite having been hacked and slashed, it seemed likely that the true causes of their deaths were their burns: they had what looked almost like tire tracks seared into their backs.

"The hell? Were those two run over, or something!?"

Voltaire glanced to it and looked rather uneasy. "So whoever did this uses electricity, and he's fast enough to scorch the ground beneath him. Terrific. The good news is: that's probably not Zandoris. The bad news is: we'll likely be killed even more easily by this one; he seems to kill and stack up people without them even knowing he was coming, after all…."

The two soon ground to a halt, coming before the grand doors. In addition to looking big and formidable, and as well as having been overlaid with bronze reliefs, what seemed like a rather large face was mounted across both of them—a rather odd decoration, but Voltaire wasn't here to admire Rakthian artwork. He merely looked again at the bodies and back to the doors. He gestured at the scene.

"Those two were guarding this set of doors, but it looks like they haven't been opened in a while," he mused, "and the only way out is back the way we came. Perhaps he could warp, too…."

Dan put his hands on the hips and got closer to the doors. "Maybe he couldn't bust through and bailed?"

"Hopefully not, because in that case we're the only two people still living around a mass of mutilated corpses, and looking rather guilty." Voltaire grimly answered.

"I can dig not having dozens of guns aimed at me…" Dan shrugged. "…but we might as well make sure this thing doesn't have any hidden doors or passwords or something." He rapped his fist on the door a few times. Other than large, metallic, and hollow sounds, he got nothing in response. "Open-says-me? Maybe a hidden switch or key up its nose or something?" He reached into the great face's nostrils and rummaged around a bit.

Voltaire was about to comment on how silly that sight looked when something went click above the two men. Instantly Dan removed his hand and snapped back, and as he did, the eyes of the metal face suddenly parted open, revealing lights on the other side which immediately grew to full brightness. The silence of the chamber was broken by the sound of gears beginning to click and whir behind it, picking up speed.

"Hey, what do you know," Dan mused. "Think that did it?"

"No, I think that door was booby trapped," Voltaire answered as he uneasily began to step backward, "and I think you just activated it."

Abruptly, the entire face shifted, changing from a blank expression to an angry frown. More clicks and whirrs came from all around them, and suddenly the ground snapped and opened up, popping out metal walls that rose all the way to the ceiling and locked into place there.

In moments, the two men had been imprisoned, enclosed on three sides by plain metal and with the now-angry bronze face looking at them on the fourth. A second later, a metallic shik sounded, prompting both men to turn and look.

The wall that had appeared right behind them suddenly bristled with fist-sized spikes, each one razor-sharp and littered with smaller thorns.

With a great lurch, the metal face and the wall it was attached to began to slowly move towards them.

Dan and Voltaire looked to each other, the latter scowling. The former gang leader shrugged. "Hey, how the hell was I supposed to know it'd get pissed from me picking its nose? Don't sweat it—I just need a second to beat an escape path out!"

He held up his hand and reached for his belt buckle, only for the eyes on the wall to glow brighter than before, and rapidly narrow the light beams coming from them. A moment later, a pair of lasers had been formed, one eye swiveling towards each man.

Both men gaped in surprise before quickly splitting in either direction, narrowly missing being singed or incinerated. Unfortunately, the beams didn't cut off; both continued to track their targets.

"Impressive trap for an old tomb; they must have renovated…." Voltaire muttered. Snapping his hand out, he made his bow materialize from thin air; he rapidly snapped it onto his wrist and nocked a pair of energy arrows. "It looks like you're going to need glasses after this, buddy!" he called out to the wall before firing off both bolts, transmuting them into Nitro Arrows.

In response, the beams immediately swiveled up and incinerated both shots, the beams so potent that they vaporized the explosive enchantments of the arrows, which meant both fizzled out in the lasers like matches in a pond. The lasers then swung back out to aim for the two of them again.

"Or not." Voltaire swallowed as he turned and quickly bolted away from the beam targeting him as best he could. There was nowhere to run in the metal box, and the face had already closed half the distance, but any time he could get was worth it.

As soon as he had enough space, he swept three more arrows out of the air, nocked them, then angled up and fired off again. The magic that transmuted them this time turned them the icy blue that they had been with the Kraidlon.

Once more, the eye beams went up to vaporize the shots headed for them—but there were only two of them for the three arrows in the air. The third one smashed into the bridge of the nose of the machine, instantly breaking the bolt and spreading a layer of frost and ice over the bronze surface.

While it failed to cover the entire head, especially the eyes, the ice spread inside as well as outside, and soon the sounds of squealing and whining gears began to ring out. The wall actually slowed a bit, although it was still closing, and near enough to make them run out of elbow room soon…

"Any ideas you got, I'd love to see them!" Voltaire shouted.

"Just needed a second!" Dan called back as he snapped his arm out, this time putting his spell into it without interruption. It rapidly enlarged and morphed into the multi-piston appendage he often used. "I'm not going to get taken out by a wall, of all the things! Jackhammer Grind!"

Luckily, the ice also seemed to hamper the ability of the laser eyes to rotate in their sockets, giving Dan the moment he needed to dive between the crossed beams, aiming for the middle of the face.

As his pistons began to chug like an oversized typewriter, he brought his arm forward and smashed it into the face with all his might. The metal was already brittle from the freezing effects of the Frost Arrow, but even if it hadn't been, Dan's attack would have been enough to hammer most metals into bits.

He only pounded it for a second or two, cracking the frozen parts and warping the rest, before the structure gave way entirely. With a massive whine and the sound of several gears busting loose, the wall suddenly shattered, breaking into bits like fragile glass and crumbling before them along with all of the cogs and workings behind it.

A resounding echo traveled through the chamber a moment, slowly dying down through the cavernous halls. Dan took a moment to revert his limb; Voltaire paused to pull out a handkerchief and wipe his brow: even he hadn't been able to keep from sweating quite a bit on that one.

"Quite the good magical pummeling," he said after a moment. "Glad you're so good at what you do."

Dan gave him a thumbs-up. "No problem. Let's just get out of here before any of these other walls turn into revenge-seeking relatives of this one…."

A few moments later, the two of them had picked their way through the wreckage of gears and machinery lining the passage Dan had just beaten into the next chamber.

Unfortunately for Voltaire, a veranda wasn't waiting for him on the other side—just another set of stairs up, these ones even larger and more elaborate than before. He realized he had taken a wrong turn, but also that going even higher would probably still be better than staying low for getting a signal out. With that in mind, the two rapidly ascended.

Where they ended up was the most ornate chamber yet; they were in a restricted area now, after all, so they were seeing the really exquisite architecture now. The stone looked as smooth and polished as glass, and the details in it were so high-quality that even Voltaire's family would have had a hard time fitting the bill for workmanship as nice. It led into a metal-floored rotunda with numerous halls stretching out around it, each passageway supported by further large, ornate pillars.

Finally, at this point, Voltaire saw a glimmer of sunlight, at the end of one far hallway—that way must have led to the veranda. However, both his attention as well as Dan's was caught by another sight: there was another staircase here.

This one seemed to lead up to a golden dragon head —not bronze, or even brass; this seemed to be the real deal— placed over a silver lion head, and both over a set of doors. Although these were metal, like the pair before, they had an unusual luster to them, and were glowing a bit too brightly for any normal metal. Voltaire suspected they had a magical seal.

"There's a set of doors I don't want you 'digging for goobers' in," Voltaire mused.

"Ha-ha." Dan rolled his eyes. "I guess this is the restricted area. Looks like whatever asshole went on the spree downstairs wasn't too bright—left before even getting this far."

He had turned away, to start heading down the sunlit hallway, when he heard the smallest sound of metal to either side of them. Voltaire heard it too, but it was already too late.

Chains shot out from the side halls on either side of them, moving as straight as arrows for both of them. Neither man had a chance to even fully process the nature of the attack before they found their limbs snagged.

Voltaire's mind had just started to remember that this was the same kind of attack used by the Marauders back in Costa Toro when the chains were suddenly given a sharp tug. Both men were ripped backward, off of their feet, and slammed rather hard into the polished floor.

Dan grunted in a touch of pain and cracked his eyes open. Both he and his red-haired companion watched as four Ibis Corps Marauders emerged, holding onto the ends of their chains.

"Damn. I hate 'off' days…." Dan muttered.

"G'day, losers," a smug voice said from before the two. "Not every day I run into guys with rocks for brains. What, do piles of bloody corpses mean 'keep walking until you run into whatever killed them' in your culture or something?"

Dan and Voltaire looked at the person speaking, simultaneously coming to the easy conclusion that this must have been the troops' leader, as he stepped out from the hall.

He was definitely on the thin side —smaller than his toadies— and wore armor that resembled both theirs and Zandoris', yet, much like those of the Magna Centurions, had its own touches. It was sleeker, without the spikes and extra mass, and had green as well as red highlights to the black.

He also wore no helmet; he let his wild red hair splay out in spike-like strands. His skin was an odd shade of tan, almost olive in this lighting, which gave him an otherworldly appearance.

He was grinning ear-to-ear, yet, as his eyes looked over the two, his smile rapidly faded. He glanced at both of them for a moment before halting altogether. He let out a massive groan and rolled his eyes.

"What. The. Hell. You guys, sometimes…." he groaned. Putting his hands on his hips, he ran his tongue between his lips, then looked up at the Maruaders. "You told me the Magna Centurions were coming."

The masked men didn't move. The leader pursed his lips, then pointed to the captives in front of him.

"Do they look like Magna Centurions to you!?"

Three of the men, although the masks rendered their faces expressionless, clearly cringed in embarrassment and fear.

The man ran a hand through his hair. "For the love of…. If I knew you were just grabbing two more random idiots, I would have just killed them to begin with…."

"Excuse me for not living up to your expectations, jackass," Dan sneered from the floor, making the men look to him. "If I knew you were such a big-shot, I would have worn my dinner jacket; not my fault you look like just another grunt!"

"Zandoris isn't here, eh?" Voltaire mused. "Great—not the worst possible outcome…."

This made the tan-skinned man pause in the middle of preparing his retort. "Wait a second…you two are some of the carnies Zandoris ran into in Costa Toro?" He frowned. "Scrawnier than I thought. You got real lucky the Magna Centurions showed up back there…but if you think you got it easy just because the 'big guy' ain't here, think again!"

The man spread his arms out across his chest. While his suit seemed tight-fitting, either through technology or magic, long red-and-black metal blades emerged from along the backs of his arms; these immediately locked together, spread out, and extended until they were each almost the length of one of his arms, then melded into one another. Both Dan and Voltaire recognized the structures they were making: wings.

As soon as they had finished, the man gave a single, graceful flap, and his body immediately rose into the air. Once there, he continued to flap only slowly, to keep himself hovering.

The winds that poured off of him and the wings was considerable, even just to keep him in that position—far more than what he could have created with those small gestures; obviously the wings were enhanced with at least one other technology or enchantment, and responded with as much force as the user wanted.

Both men grew a bit tense upon noting that: someone who could fly with apparent ease. While the Mausoleum was enclosed, the ceiling was more than high enough for someone to move around that way. Besides, he was simply under Zandoris; that didn't mean he didn't necessarily have them both totally outclassed….

"Name's Deacon Cortez, the Voltaic Kazejin and part of the Jinn Cadre. And here's a fun fact:" He grinned again. "I'm way deadlier than Zandoris; he can only really leave a mess when he cuts loose. I'm …shall we say… less conservative, and more artistic."

Dan raised an eyebrow. "…'Artistic'?"

"Didn't you see my handiwork downstairs?" Deacon casually asked. "But don't sweat it…" He grinned even more. "I'll be nice enough to let your next of kin ID your bodies, at least."

"An adept at levitation magic…." Voltaire muttered. "Explains how he moved so fast. And how he got in here so quickly: he flew in before the walls could shut him in…."

Dan was more incensed by Deacon's casual comments. "So what the hell do you want in a Mausoleum, anyway?"

"I should answer that…why, again?" Deacon asked, crossing his arms and yet remaining hovering. "Besides, I thought the big guy made it clear. Marvados has a real infestation on its hands; no big deal squashing a few bugs before we fumigate the whole thing, right?" He snickered. "Oh, my bad—I guess if you're a bug yourself, you might find that offensive. Now…how about I ask you a question? Just what the hell are you doing here? This is a long way from Costa Toro…and even if it wasn't, are you so clueless to think you got out last time by skill?"

"I suppose you could call us members of an order of justice," Voltaire muttered, and sighed. "…Requiem makes that sound so much more impressive…."

"I'm not in a real talkative mood, psycho." Dan sneered back, infuriated. "If you don't want to talk, I'll just beat you until you squeal!"

"Oh, my…a thick one here, eh?" Deacon snickered. "Fine—die keeping your mouth shut. I've still got to prove those old folks who say no one can break into the deepest part of the Mausoleum wrong." He started to uncross his arms. "Think of it this way: better dead here than dead when this world goes through the reformation…."

Dan gnashed his teeth at that latest insult. Before Deacon could make another, Dan revealed that he'd heard enough. He unleashed a stream of arcane language before wrenching one of his arms up so hard it snapped one of the Marauders forward and off their feet.

A moment later, the arm had become metallic and enlarged into the full Turbo Knuckle, the rear piston instantly snapping out and locking into position. In a snap, he swung it around and drove it into the ground, discharging the full force into it.

The sheer force was enough to snap Dan into the air like he was on a trampoline, which yanked the chains taut. To the shock of Deacon and the Marauders, the latter were yanked forward like balls on a string, colliding with each other right where Dan had been a moment ago.

As he landed, he quickly lashed out with one leg and dropped a heel on top of the head of the one on his left. With a crack, he fell to the ground as Dan landed on his free leg.

The other quickly snapped his chain loose and raised his gauntlet to fire, but it was a small matter of the former gang member simply snapping his body to one side, letting the projectile sail harmlessly past him. He followed up with a roundhouse kick to knock this one off-balance, then quickly darted in and smashed them in the face with his still-metal hand to drop them for good.

Voltaire didn't waste the chance created when Dan's actions distracted the other captors, allowing him to quickly whip up two arrows, nock them, and rapidly fire them at both of his holders.

Either man turned to him and sidestepped in time, letting them sail harmlessly by, but Voltaire only smirked as the arrows bounced off of the columns behind the men a moment later and shot back with perfect trajectories for the smalls of their backs.

His only mistake was that one landed well ahead of the other, striking its Marauder and making them cry out and falter, alerting their companion early enough to dodge. The second arrow grazed it's target's arm, but other than making them wince didn't seem to affect the Marauder. They quickly raised their gauntlet to fire on the red-haired man…but paused, seeing Voltaire still grinning: the arrow still wasn't spent.

As soon as it had ripped past the Marauder's arm, it arced down, ricocheted off of the ground, then a column, which sent it into the ceiling above the Ibis Corps soldier, where it detonated. One explosion later, a sizeable rock came down with a clonk on their head. Greymont-enhanced armor that helmet was not: the Corps member staggered, dazzled.

Voltaire didn't give his opponent the chance to recover, quickly nocking one more arrow and firing it into their heart to make sure they wouldn't be getting up again. After doing so, he snapped to his feet and shook the chains off, turning fully to Deacon along with Dan.

Deacon actually looked around in a bit of annoyance, seeing all four of his men down. He frowned at that. "Damn it, now look what you've done! You know, those guys owed me beer!" His wings spread open. "This just means you'll die slow, instead of fast!"

Dan simply cracked his neck as he snapped his arms back to flesh and blood: Voltaire realized he was trying to go for speed. A moment later, Dan lunged right at their foe, putting all the power he could into his legs, to lunge in his best possible imitation of Requiem. Deacon merely smirked as he swept his arms slightly downward, casually elevating and letting Dan sail underneath him.

Dan landed a moment later, snapping around and glaring up in fury, then quickly launched himself again, faster and harder—for all the good it did, since Deacon simply moved to one side.

"Wow—nice move." Deacon snickered. "I almost felt a draft from that one…."

Voltaire heard Dan's fume curses at that, his eyes blazing with anger and his fists clenching at the taunt.

"Cool it, would you?" Voltaire called out as he raised his bow and conjured another arrow. "He's egging you on, and it's making you sloppy!"

Since Deacon could obviously see them coming from a mile away, and use the distance and his speed to his advantage, Voltaire would have to rely on cunning.

With that in mind, he snapped the arrow in and fired it. While it was faster than what Dan had done, it still gave enough of a telegraph to be evaded. Halfway through the target, though, magic hit the bolt, not only transmuting it into a Frost Arrow but splitting it into his Tri-Frost Arrow: Voltaire had mastered how to make the arrow split at a distance…for all the good it did him. All it forced the Jinn Cadre to do was a graceful somersault, maneuvering around all three shots. The red-haired man soon scowled at his miss.

"Aw, don't feel too bad, slug-head," Deacon lightly chided. "It's not like anyone out there is fast enough to shoot me down! I'm still 'treading water' here—in fact, I have more speed than any missile or ship !"

Voltaire responded by tracing all five fingers in the air, making five new bolts, then snatching them out of the sky. "Except you're not a machine, so you can't keep this up forever."

"Is that a challenge? Fine, I'm game—but if you lose, you're not just going to die; your corpse will be another work of art for my résumé!"

Voltaire didn't answer verbally; he merely snapped his bow up and began to fire one bolt after another in rapid succession, putting magic into the bowstring for added speed. As soon as he used up a plasma bolt, he generated another one while simultaneously firing the next.

A steady stream of arrows resulted, yet this time his opponent didn't even bother dodging—rather, additional metal pieces came out of his arms, this time on his hands, in the shape of claws.

Without upsetting his flight at all, he snapped his hands out and slashed apart each shot as they came in. Those plasma bolts should have eventually melted any regular blade, but they showed no signs of damage as he cut apart one shot after another. The fact he stayed perfectly in midair confirmed to Voltaire those wings were for show.

Snickering again, Deacon finally simply ascended into the air, evading the shots altogether. That, however, spurred Dan to try something new, since the Ibis Corps member's path had taken Deacon close to a column. The former gang leader dashed to a nearby pillar and quickly morphed his arm back into the Turbo Knuckle.

Getting his idea from what he had done against the Marauders, he swung it around and slammed it into the ground, again launching him into the air in an impressive bound that would give Requiem a run for his money.

As he reached the zenith, he took just long enough to aim his body before morphing his other arm as well, swinging it around, and striking the column.

The result launched him off of it in a straight path for Deacon. Dan caught the olive-skinned man glancing at him; he merely grinned back and whirled back his other fist, knowing it was too late for Deacon to dodge…yet, as his fist sailed forward, and should have made contact, it passed right through the face.

Dan's eyes promptly widened when he saw Deacon flicker right before his eyes, his entire body looking like a bad bit of film, just before Dan simply sailed right through him, the Jinn Cadre's image vanishing into thin air.

The man was so stunned that he nearly collapsed on landing, barely remembering to get his feet under himself. As soon as he had done so, he clenched his fists and snapped his head up furiously, looking for his foe.

"Damn that winged bastard…. Where'd he go!?"

"Sheesh—you'd think your arms would get tired of punching nothing but air after a while…."

Dan's eyes widened as he snapped around, finding Deacon casually hovering in the air behind him, arms crossed again and looking rather casual. For a moment, he registered nothing but surprise, but that turned back into anger a second later as he fumed in rage. He looked like he was getting almost as angry as Troy….

Voltaire was far more uneasy; he was much more familiar with body acceleration magic. It was rather useful to know enhancer spells that helped push one's bodies past the normal limits of physiology, but even so, he had never heard of a spell so strong —or a spellcaster powerful enough to use it— that it allowed them to move so fast they actually left an afterimage behind. That had been no illusion, that was for certain; it had just been the man himself still triggering their brains with reflected light while he was already gone. He simply moved so fast none of them could see him until he'd stopped again….

"Thought that was just a theory…." he muttered inwardly as he readied his bow again. A bead of sweat ran down his temple.

"Seriously?" Deacon asked as he saw the two Ravens readying themselves again. "You couldn't even deal with a sample of what I can do; what makes you think you're anywhere near my league?"

"I don't have my hair feathered is what, rooster-head!" Dan snapped back.

Voltaire nearly smacked his face with the palm of his hand. Terrific, Dan—just treat this like a schoolyard brawl and make him angry….

If that was the intention, it worked: Deacon's eyes enlarged, and some of his mirth vanished. Voltaire saw his muscles tighten. "All right, Goldilocks—you want to see just how hardcore I can be? Sonic Bolt!"

Snapping his arms wide, he made a gesture with his fingers. At once, the wings lit up and glowed with a green aura, pointing out where Deacon's wand was, for all the good that would do them.

Dan quickly locked his feet in and responded with a technique of his own, chanting to fire up his Shield Arm and morphing his piston arm into the much wider and more durable body part. Not satisfied with that, he quickly morphed his other arm as well, and braced himself for whatever would happen next.

Deacon didn't swoop at them, though. Instead, he ascended still higher for a moment, rising almost all the way to the ceiling, and then suddenly snapped his wings around, arched himself down, and shot like a bullet to the floor, stopping himself just above the ground, but the spell did its job without that impact: immediately, the entire chamber felt like a tornado had been unloaded into it.

The sharp gale hit both Dan and Voltaire hard enough for them to feel like they had been struck by a moving vehicle, knocking them senseless and flinging them through the air. They were furiously thrown about in a chaotic cyclone, their bodies flung about like so much chaff.

Whatever bearings they managed to retain from the initial blow were thrown for a loop as they were toppled over each other and cast about violently, this way and that. It felt almost like they were on the world's most insane waterslide, twisted into an indecipherable knot.

Finally it ended, and both men slammed into the ground. Voltaire nearly slid back down the stairs they had just ascended; Dan let out a cry as he touched down headfirst into the floor.

While the blow itself seemed only to have stunned him momentarily, Dan nevertheless gritted his teeth as both of his hands pushed against the floor and elevated him again. On doing so, he gaped a bit at the cause of his pain. That wind that had first struck him wasn't just force—it had actually ripped open a gash in his left side. His Shield Arm had been right in front of that….

He looked up to glare at his enemy, and found Deacon already hovering right in front of him, looking a bit wilder than before.

"How did you like that Sonic Bolt? I came up with that spell myself!"

Dan only stared back silently. He didn't expect Deacon to come back so quickly, it seemed, or to be on him while he was like this.

"Now, that's what I like to see: the fear growing in your eyes!" the man hissed. "You're starting to get it now, bug. Very nice; games only get fun when you get into the other guy's head, after all…."

Dan caught himself, realizing what he was showing. On doing that, he snorted and snapped out one of his arms, reverting it back into flesh-and-bone before reaching for one of the orally administered medical gels in his pockets.

Voltaire thought that would only prompt their opponent to kill Dan now, but Deacon waited. Like Zandoris, it seemed, this Jinn Cadre member thought so high of himself that he always took his time with people like Votaire and Dan; the former gangster had more than enough time to pop it out and down it. As Voltaire heard the flesh audibly stitching itself back together, he pushed up to get his own feet underneath him.

"Like hell am I scared of some bird-lover like you." Dan snorted. "You ain't the first tough guy I've ended up smashing."

Voltaire didn't bother talking any more trash; he simply rose up once again and started tracing his hand through the air once more, pulling out more arrows.

Deacon actually frowned a bit at this. "And here I thought this was going to make you two bring your 'A' game—assuming you had any to bring out in the first place. If you're just going to try the same stupid thing again, then I'm too bored to even play any longer."

The red-haired man answered by starting to nock the first of his new arrows. "Aw, don't talk like that—don't you know, some things can only be enjoyed the second time around?"

A targeting laser popped out of the front of the bow and turned on. Deacon scoffed at the whole thing as he lifted off again. "This too-stupid-to-know you're-screwed act is getting stale, loser…"

Suddenly, the man flickered and, to Dan's visible surprise, images of Deacon appeared all over the room. In an instant, over two dozen of them were everywhere, all in different poses. Some were flying; some were standing; some were lounging; all of them were grinning and laughing. When he spoke, his voice seemed to come from all of them at once.

"and besides, what good will good aim do you if your shot is still too slow?"

Voltaire sweated a bit more heavily on seeing all of the images about him, but then took a deep breath and raised his crossbow.

"Let's find out."

Immediately, Voltaire ran bolts through his bow again, firing one after another. Each one that he fired immediately transmuted into a Frost Arrow. He started by firing at the original Deacon, then quickly snapped around and fired at random, sending them anywhere and everywhere throughout the chamber.

Only a few of them even struck an image; most of them were completely wild and just flew through empty parts of the chamber—and the few that actually did tag Deacon went right through him as he kept laughing. None of the images moved.

"Guess the pressure really is getting to you, if you're resorting to just shooting blindly! Face it—your luck ran out the moment you tried to keep me from making my score!"

The man cut off his firing as his earring blazed. "Why would it do that? Lady Luck and I go way back…." he said before he snapped his fingers and muttered a single word.

At once, all of the seemingly random ice arrows that had been spread through the chamber burst in frosty explosions. The entire chamber was filled with icy blue light as the chilling blasts went everywhere, sending sharp icy gales through the confines of the area. For a brief moment, every last image of Deacon's face turned to confusion…before vanishing.

The icy mist soon died down afterward, the entire chamber now coated with a layer of frost. Dan gaped in some surprise at the magnitude of the attack; Voltaire was panting a bit…but was also grinning as he looked at what else had become visible.

A rather stunned Deacon was standing against one of the walls, one of his wings and one of his arms encased in ice. It looked to be rather painful, but rather than registering trauma, he looked shocked.

"What…!? How…how did you…!?"

"Nice little thing about my Frost Arrows: they aren't just on-impact. They cause a bit of splash damage upon bursting, which can be timed, as you can see." Voltaire slyly answered, still breathing a little hard. "I figured if they all went off at once in a room like this, even you couldn't get away."

The Jinn Cadre gritted his teeth in pain as his working fist clenched. "Aren't you a crafty little sneak? Of course, now that you're also a pain in my ass…" His eyes burned. "…I'm going to be much rougher on your corpse. I'd like to make you an example of my new creative phase…."

"You're such an artist? Well, then, how do you like this!?"

Deacon turned his head to that. "The hell? That didn't even—"

He cut himself off as he saw Dan was on the offensive again, snapping one of his arms out to seize a rather large piece of rubble that had been knocked loose by Voltaire's earlier attack, and flinging it right at Deacon's head.

Deacon gritted his teeth, but also smiled a bit smugly as he raised his intact arm and swiped it out before him, slicing the stone into two pieces that flew to either side of him.

He lowered his wing to taunt in response…only to have Dan suddenly seize his good arm. To be precise, an oversized hand did so, the result of his using another surprise Elastic Fist spell. Deacon blinked in surprise at the sudden contact, only for his body to then be yanked forward, right up to the former gangster.

As Deacon neared, the blond-haired man grinned at him and morphed his other arm into the jackhammer-like limb that he loved to use. "Of course the joke didn't get through; you haven't heard the punchline yet! About time I hammer it into yah! Jackhammer Grind!"

Deacon's face actually showed the smallest hint of fear before it tightened in fury. As he was deposited right in front of Dan, he swung his limb up and spread out the feathers, just as Dan's own limb came forward. The sound of the repeating hammer echoed loudly through the chamber, and Voltaire soon found the wings were just as durable as Deacon was fast.

In spite of Dan's fist blazing so rapidly it was a continuous blur, and Dan applying his natural speed to aim it into any opening he could, Deacon was actually holding him back; his durable feathers and speed matched him blow for blow.

They seemed even for a few moments, making more noise and fury about them with each passing moment. After a bit, though, Deacon began to push with his legs, trying to get away. In response, Dan only attacked more furiously with his one arm while holding tight with the other. He wasn't going to let his foe get away this time—not without tagging Deacon….

Finally, he did so. After pushing Deacon to the limit, Dan threw in one extra blow, swinging his head forward and nailing the other man right between the eyes. The impact was so loud that Voltaire heard the crack, and the Jinn Cadre cried out and staggered back.

Dan finally let go of the frozen limb, and swung it around to smash into Deacon's gut. In spite of it only being a flesh-and-bone arm at that point, the impact ripped Deacon clean off of his feet and sprawled him out on the ground. On landing, he gave a sharp cough…spattering out blood in the process.

At least he's less durable than Zandoris, Voltaire thought.

Quickly, Dan snapped the arm around to the side, chanting to reinstate the Elastic Fist and start stretching it out again, but, not waiting for any recovery, or for the spell to finish, he meanwhile charged at the Ibis Corps member and reared back his Jackhammer fist once again, ready to take advantage of his foe's position.

Before Dan could reach him, Deacon snapped his head up, face twisted with anger now, and having lost its cockiness. His wings blazed brighter than ever as he brought his good hand up.

"You…" he breathed. "DAMN you! Lightning Burst!"

He quickly made a hand sign, causing a bolt of electricity to erupt from the hand and shoot right into Dan's chest. Giving a pained cry, the former gangster was halted mid-charge and knocked to the floor himself.

While it left a smell of burning and a small plume of smoke, Voltaire knew better than to worry; Deacon had done that move in panic, not putting enough power in it to give anything more than a nasty shock. A moment later, Dan grasped his chest with one hand as he morphed his other arm back and slowly rolled himself upright again.

"Think I hit a nerve…."

"You think you little, unskilled …mortals… can make a fool out of me!?" Deacon sneered as his look turned wilder yet, his anger at having actually taken some hits and being injured overriding his pain. He sneered as he twisted his body and began to rise, his wings still blazing. "I'm a transcended warrior! Do you have the slightest idea what that means!?"

"You have to run around dressed like a chicken?" Dan asked innocently.

Voltaire grimaced as the wings went from green to red, fresh fury flooding Deacon's body. This time he nearly shouted at Dan for making Deacon angrier before the Jinn Cadre snapped his wings forward. Instantly, energy waves poured off of his wings, testifying that this was a Mana Slash technique, just like the kind Richard used.

Unlike Richard's, though, and much to the unease of the two men, this wasn't just one arc—it was a series of rake-like waves, spreading out as they shot for both Ravens. They immediately dove to one side, feeling the cast-off heat and power, and getting hit by bits of rubble, as the energy tore up the ground and superheated the air.

A moment later, they both had to dive again, seeing that there was a second wave, alternating with the first and right behind it. Voltaire practically threw his body to the floor to get out of the way.

Nice—we've made him mad enough to bring out his full power…I hope. Now, what do we do? Pray?

Deacon flapped his motile wing and took off into the air: even with one arm frozen, his magic allowed him to stay there. Once in the sky, his entire body began to shimmer—and not just the wings.

He laughed manically before snapping, "You thought you had me figured out before? You've only seen a fraction of what I can do; I'm tough enough to take out a Magna Centurion!"

As Voltaire and Dan righted themselves, they saw that his body was turning yellow instead of green, like sizzling electricity. Beams of magic and lightning bolts started to snap off around him, arcing all the way to the floor and columns.

Slowly he crossed his one good arm in front of him as he continued to charge his body with magic. Lightning seemed to actually start lifting off of him like a shroud, and the more his face twisted in his anger and bloodlust, the faster the spell charged.

Finally, Voltaire turned his head and shouted at Dan. "Hey! Dan!"

Dan looked to him, startled out of his growing apprehension at what he was seeing.

"Don't you think running might be better than standing around waiting for that to finish!?"

The former gangster paused only a moment, then quickly snapped around and bolted for it; Voltaire did the same.

"Sorry—time's up! One of my nicknames is The Thunderbird, because I soar through battlefields in an electrical blitzkrieg, like a flash of lightning! —And now I'll show you how I got my title. Voltaic Cyclone!"

The Jinn Cadre screamed wildly and dove for the ground again. Having no more time to get clear, both Dan and Voltaire came to the same conclusion: they both dove to one side and behind some of the stone columns, trying to get whatever protection they could, just as Deacon connected with the floor.

For a brief moment, a ring of lightning and transparent green light erupted from the point of impact, seeming to hold itself in midair. Then, in a rush, it snapped out and rippled through the entire chamber.

If this was really going to be Deacon's "ultimate attack", Voltaire was glad they had managed to get to cover just in time. Taking the full brunt of the oncoming attack likely would have killed them both in an instant, especially considering how easy it had been for the Jinn Cadre to kill everyone else in the Mausoleum.

As it was, potent beams of magic and waves of electricity ripped right through the stone columns that were blocking them, shattering them and catching the fragments up along with them. If they had absorbed the brunt of the attack, it hardly seemed to matter to Dan and Voltaire a moment later, when they were once again taken up by a tornado and flung about wildly. This one, however, was more like a rock tumbler with a live wire inside of it.

Whereas the violence of being flung around was horrible before, now it was mixed with white-hot bolts shooting into them, blasting them again and again. The numbing jolts eliminated most of the pain, thankfully, but both knew they were being wracked with one damaging blast after another. The only thing that let them know they were still conscious in the storm of chaos was the insane laughter over all of it; the spell itself seemed to radiate with it.

The spell finally faded, but they were still in motion. They went flying into the stairs, smacking them rather hard. That only forced further agony into both, and Voltaire, at least, was thankful that he was still so numbed from the assault he couldn't feel much.

Nevertheless, he realized the impact had to have been the worst part: for all of the pain he'd felt, he only was smoking a bit. An assault like that should have left him and Dan blackened skeletons, but all they had were a few small burns…albeit some of them internal and hurting quite a bit. On the other hand, when he coughed, he gave up a bit of blood.

"Now I know how my socks feel when they get static cling," he muttered.

A shadow fell over both of them, only to move again. The two looked up, and saw Deacon was flying again, still looking wild.

"Always feels good to clear my head," the elite Ibis Corps member muttered, then informed them, "That numbness will only increase, till you feel nothing at all. How do you like a taste of what I can really do? It's a breathtaking work of art, eh? It's yet another example of how an evolved soldier such as me will never lose to trash like you! "

Dan responded by sneering and quickly throwing his body forward to try and shove it back onto his legs. It was no good this time; Voltaire watched as he only managed to flip himself over and onto his face. "If you're going to kill me, then kill me," the man hissed as he tried to raise his head. "Don't waste your time annoying me with your grating voice…unless you're trying to give me the time to get up and kick your ass…."

"Even after that, you're still talking trash?" the Jinn Cadre answered with an amused smirk. "You know something else? That really gets me—after what Zandoris did to you two, you still came in after me. By now, you have to have to realized you're more than a few cuts below the pros—so what did you hope to do, coming in here?"

"There's more than two of us, you know," Voltaire answered. "For a guy who talks so big, you seem to be awfully afraid to let us call them in. Once they find out about your little stunt, they'll be glad to finish what we started."

Deacon stared at the man and his defiance a moment, then chuckled. "Ignorance is bliss, eh? Well, you just keep on thinking that, right down to your graves, and have it put on your tombstones. I'll be more than happy to take them out, t—"

That was as far as he got before he was swallowed up in a beam of light. He might have been fast, but if he didn't see something coming, all the speed in the world couldn't help him.

A moment later, there was a radiant, blinding explosion. Dan and Voltaire, about as shocked as the target, quickly snapped back and did their best to move their numb arms and cover their eyes in response to the light radiating both through the chamber and out and beyond all of the halls of the entire floor of the Mausoleum along with the deafening blast.

That echo took longer to die down, but it gave Dan and Voltaire time to recover a bit more. Slowly, they turned their heads up and uncovered their eyes, looking to the one remaining sound in the chamber: metal boots on a metal floor.

Their eyes soon settled on Requiem, who was walking into the chamber. His arm had been morphed into the Flare Buster cannon, and was aimed forward.

"I'm waiting on you to 'take me out'…."

In spite of the situation, Voltaire couldn't help but grin a bit wryly. "You really have the dramatic timing down pat, don't you? I'm also kind of glad you can apparently read my mind, too…."

"There were Rakthian soldiers plotting with Alec's agent to attack the summit. When I pulled into transmission range, Cipher Raven said she hadn't heard from you." Richard answered. "I guessed it was jammed again, which could mean only one thing."

He looked to either side, having already guessed Deacon was working for the Ibis Corps, though he hadn't actually heard enough to know, and promptly found all the confirmation he needed: the Marauders were already dead and burning, ensuring they couldn't be taken captive, and there was only one organization Richard knew of that did that.

He then looked back to his target: Deacon was in a rather mangled pile on the ground. As badly as Dan and Voltaire had been smoking, he was far worse; almost all of his armor was burned, melted, and/or cracked.

The Jinn Cadre member's frozen side was the worst-hit—his previously frozen arm resembled an overdone burger at that point, while the relevant wing was totally melted, although the other side was little better than twisted metal. Based on the damage, it seemed the only reason he wasn't totally vaporized from that attack was because his armor, much as Zandoris' and Requiem's had, had absorbed a lot of it.

Still, it was a testament to Deacon's durability that, in spite of his pitiful state, he was still getting his feet underneath him again.

"What the hell is wrong with you, man?" he groaned. "Attacking someone without even introducing yourself first…?"

"That was my introduction," Requiem flatly answered as he approached, snapping his arm to one side, causing it to morph back into its previous form.

Deacon ground his teeth and hissed. "Moron…" He growled, again forcing his legs beneath him. "You aren't going to make me look bad; I'm just getting start—"

"No, you're done," Requiem cut him off calmly, his wand blazing and his hand making a gesture. As before, he transmitted his Metal Morph spell into the ground, but it didn't make a slippery floor or a soup this time.

Instead, the metal rippled around Deacon and produced chains. He snapped his gaze downwards as he felt the tremors, but he was too dazzled to use any more of his acceleration magic. In moments, he was bound around the arms and legs.

Hissing, he struggled and strained against them a moment, but to nobody did he seem to be strong enough. He only had great speed; that much had been made clear when Dan was able to hold him so long with one arm.

His expression turning infuriated again in spite of his situation, Deacon turned from trying to free himself to glare…and found the tip of Auro Solais was nearby, pointed right at his forehead: Requiem had come to a stop and now had him at its point.

"Do you enjoy living?" Requiem asked Deacon darkly. "Then I have questions I'd like answered."

The man didn't even look nervous; he snickered at the whole thing. "I'm not telling you anything. I may be an artist, but I'm a loyal one—there's nothing you can say or do to me that can make me talk."

"I wouldn't bet on that. Besides, since you don't have any means of killing yourself, like they did…" He gestured to the stains that used to be the Marauders. "It's either me or your choice of three different governments, so it really doesn't matter either way, now does it?"

"I'd watch that smug little tone of yours, bug," Deacon sneered. "It's the ones that buzz too much that get swatted."

Dan let out a grunt as he finally got enough strength to push himself back onto his legs. "After all we just did to you, now you're the one still talking trash?"

"You under-evolved microbes haven't the slightest idea of how brutal we can be," the Jinn Cadre member zealously answered. "The only reason you're still standing right now is because both Zandoris and I decided just to give you a taste!

"It's not going to be too long before we rip open every last slug like yourselves on this planet, burn down thousands of years worth of so-called human civilization—and vaporize the ashes for good measure! We've got nothing to fear from Rakthian tech, Jiodisian bio-weapons, or Aurino knights…so you're certainly not even enough to be a speed bump!"

Requiem didn't change, nor move his sword. "You will give me one answer, or I will carve it out of you: where does Alec Steel fit into all of this?"

Deacon said nothing; he merely glared. If he was preparing a retort or a snappy response, neither Requiem, Dan, nor Voltaire ever heard it—they were distracted by the entire chamber suddenly rumbling with a violent tremor. The temperature in the room suddenly surged, and the very air seemed to change.

At once, Richard looked away from Deacon and cast his eyes about; Dan finished rising and tensed as well. Voltaire finally forced himself to his feet as the chamber continued to rock, then turned toward the stairs below. Although they were at an angle, he could still spot something. His eyes widened as he pointed.

"Look!"

The three standing men looked down the stairs, and, beneath his mask, Requiem's eyes widened: There was a hole there that had been bashed through earlier, but it was rapidly becoming superfluous; the entire door was glowing brighter and brighter by the second, as if being heated to its melting point.

It didn't simply melt right then and there, though. The pieces of the door seemed to totally vaporize. Richard was no metallurgist, but he knew for a fact that enchanted metal couldn't just be annihilated so easily…yet he could feel something in the air; something that signified whatever was causing this was magic…which meant someone powerful was here.

A moment later, the magical force that had vaporized the door was gone. The chamber was silent afterwards—no sizzling or burning sounds; not even the smell of smoke. The air again became normal, and the heat faded. The Mausoleum was now as silent as a tomb—even Deacon had gone quiet. Richard looked downstairs.

Slowly, footsteps began to tap against the metal floor; a figure slowly came into view.

The three members of the Crimson Tengu Ravens wondered just what was going on, and shortly got their answer when a calm, male voice suddenly remarked, "…Well, it seems there's quite the large amount of excitement going on around here. I do wish you weren't so nosy; it's rather distasteful."

Richard found that the man strolling in was none other than Alec Steel, and, as the lobbyist just looked up at the three with curiosity, Richard raised an eyebrow: "Alec Steel, here?"

Voltaire realized that the door behind Alec was completely vaporized, blinked for a few seconds, and muttered, "Wait, he got past that door's defenses measures? When did he even get in here? If he bypassed the inner chambers' defenses so casually, he either knows extremely powerful magic, or has extremely powerful machinery. Either way, this is looking rather ominous…."

Alec Steel had reached the steps, and slowly began to walk up them. Each one of his footsteps echoed loud and long throughout the entire chamber, as if it was the only sound for miles.

Finally, he reached the top. He came a halt, and stood silently; his eyes slowly inspected the area. They paused upon the skid marks of the former Marauders, upon the damage that had been done to the room, and finally upon Deacon. His gaze passed over Requiem, Dan, and Voltaire as if they weren't important.

Deacon looked rather nervous; Richard thought he was showing more fear than any of them were—where before he'd looked bold enough to taunt them until he died, now he looked rather cowed.

"Ex…Exalted One…. Wh—what are you doing here?"

Requiem swallowed: Did he just call Steel 'Exalted One'!?

The lobbyist closed his eyes and answered playfully, "Well, Deacon, this was a rather vital operation, and I wanted to ensure it went smoothly. I figured, for all your talents, there was a chance that getting through the final barriers might have been beyond what you could handle.

"At the very least, you proved to be a good decoy, but I must admit this turn of events is most…unpleasing. I figured there was a chance a nosy Magna Centurion might have gotten lucky, but to see you in such a pitiful state thanks to such riffraff truly is…pathetic."

Deacon audibly swallowed.

"W—wait, wait! It's not what you think!" the man suddenly cried. "I was winning! I was thrashing all of them! Then this guy in the mask just got in my—"

Alec's eyes sharpened as he hissed venomously. "The only thing I hate more than failure is excuses; they make you look stupid. Do you think I give out the title of Jinn Cadre to just anyone, and expect nothing on their part to honor it? I'm of the mind to give you disciplinary action, Deacon." His eyes narrowed. "I'm of the mind to administer it personally and most harshly."

In spite of the fact that one of Deacon's arms was little better than jerky, it was only upon hearing that which he turned white and began to shake like a leaf.

"Nevertheless, despite your carelessness, while you were dealing with this, I retrieved the object of our desire," Alec added as he smiled a bit. His hand went down to a pocket, fished for a moment, and then pulled out something.

As the object was held up and exposed, the entire chamber, which before was tinted red from the lighting, metal floor, and stone walls, took on a greenish hue, the result of the light emitting from the jade-green crystal within the unarmored man's hand. It was cross-shaped, and, more importantly, it seemed to have an inner light burning inside of it—not a glow, as with the crystals in Richard's sword, but like plasma, or a miniature star.

On seeing this, Richard's fear redoubled: there was only one thing which that gemstone could be.

"If this had been another Costa Toro, well, then I might have been very…agitated. At long last, though, we've found the genuine article, a true Dragon Helix Emerald! It all starts with this; this gem of near-limitless magical power, which will be part of the catalyst to unlocking the new world!"

Richard saw the hungry look burning in Alec's eyes; he narrowed his own. "And what exactly do you want them for?"

Alec set his eyes on the masked man, and, despite how furiously Richard was glaring at him, the lobbyist just looked at him with mild reproof. "I'm afraid that my desires for this little trinket aren't really any of your concern, my friend."

The casualness of the man in front of him annoyed Richard further. He jabbed his finger at Alec, dramatically declaring, "I am making it my concern, Steel. Your ambitions have harmed far too many for far too long, and they end right here!"

Alec was not fazed at all by the declaration. "Oh? And just what have I done to earn such scorn, stranger? Let's see, a man in silver armor, with a following: I take it that means you're Requiem, correct? I've heard about how a man with unusual talents has been the bane of gangsters all over Los Midas.

"Yes—the man was able to successfully raid Rycroft Asylum, and put Doctor Salinger on the verge of death, and was also able to go all the way to Costa Toro to fight with the Ibis Corps. Somehow you even survived such an encounter—that's no small feat.

"Nevertheless, I still don't know why someone who is organizing some sort of new gang that rallies about justice and such things would be looking at me so…intently…."

Richard struggled to keep his composure as he pointed his sword in Alec's direction and retorted flatly, "You must have nerves of steel, to plead innocent just after blasting down the door of the Mausoleum's vaults. Because of you, tragedies have unfolded on Zaylor, on Pokarda, and on countless innocent peoples' lives! Your manipulations have weakened the very integrity of the Aurino Republic, and I won't let you have your way a second longer!"

Alec reacted to Richard's accusation with intense, almost maniacal, laughter. "Let me? Who are you to deny me anything? I did hear you tend to be dramatic, but it's even more amusing to see such foolishness displayed in front of me. Do you really think that just because you're passionate about inflicting your flimsy ideas of justice upon others, you're in any position to stand in my way?"

Richard ignored this, snarling, "Even if they're just my personal beliefs of what justice means, they still aren't as bad as your ego, which makes you think you can do such things and not have to answer to the consequences! It must be truly bloated and twisted if you think you can commit such travesties so casually, all for your own greed, and live!

"I don't care what your excuse is; if you're collaborating with the likes of Zandoris and the rest of the Ibis Corps, along with the Mob and all the other scum and villains, you've already sealed your fate! You have to be stopped, for the sake of all that is right and just in this world!

"I am Requiem, the Avatar of Vengeance; the Demon of Rage! You may not take me seriously, but that will change by the time I'm done with you! If I can match blows with the Jinn Cadre, then a sneaky businessman won't stand a chance. So, with that, I will only say this once: surrender now, if you want to live!"

Alec saw the fury in the eyes of the silver-armored man, and closed his own. "My—you do seem to have quite the grudge against me. Do you wear that mask, Requiem, because I perhaps did something to ruin your life, personally? Is this all some vendetta you have? Well, no matter what it is, you're wrong about at least one thing: my cause is far grander than mere greed, and it's far worthier then anything you fight for."

Deacon suddenly cut in with another coarse laugh, then commented, "Oh, man, are you guys ever in the wrong place at the wrong time…. You think this guy is below Zandoris?"

He let out another chuckle, gesturing to Steel with his head. "You're looking at the leader of the Ibis Corps—and now you've made him mad!"

As Alec watched all three of the Crimson Tengu Ravens freeze up in shock, he cleared his throat, then suddenly said, in slow, cold tones, "You're quite wrong, Deacon; the one who's making me mad right now is you. Really, now—I thought by now you'd know what happens when you're so…careless. If you don't cease being so pathetic, I think I shall ensure you never talk again…."

Deacon's face quickly shifted to that of a deer caught in headlights; he gulped and cried out hysterically, "Oh, no—I swear I'll shut up! Please have mercy, Lord Ares!"

Richard quickly eyed Deacon, muttering, "'Lord Ares'? Wait…I've heard that name before; that girl —Rain— from Zaylor said someone named 'Ares' coaxed them into rebelling against the Aurino Republic…."

Voltaire eyed Alec carefully, commenting, "I've heard of a man called Ares before; a self-proclaimed master of all combat; a "god" of war. I've also heard no one has seen this man in person."

Dan took note of how panicked Deacon was, snickered, and replied, "Well, guess we're the lucky —or luckless— suckers who may have changed all that."

Alec put his free hand to his head and unleashed a long, cold laugh, then opened his eyes and proclaimed, "You know what? It's been too long since I've had some real fun; far too long since I soaked in my enemies' blood.

"As long as the Codec channels are still jammed, I suppose having a little fun is not out of the question…. True, this adds an unnecessary risk to things, but hey—what is life without a little spice now and then, yes? Besides, seeing such pitiful birds chirping about things like justice, and truth, without having any idea what such ideas really amount to, flying right into the face of their predator so arrogantly—they're just begging to be devoured!

"Now, then, since you're so absolutely sure that you're fighting for the truth, it will be my absolute pleasure showing you what the sincere 'truth' of this world is—as I shatter your pathetic, delusional wills! You wanted to find the truth, Requiem? Let me show you the truth—the truth that is despair! As stupid as Deacon is, he's not wrong: Zandoris is the one who serves me—for I am the true leader of the Ibis Corps! And I'm its leader because no one in the entire world can surpass my magic!

"'Alec Steel' and all of the lobbyist antics are just my public face. Since I'm in a good mood, and you're in such a hurry to die, I'll reward you by subjugating you to the true fury of the darkness!"

Alec suddenly made a hand sign with his free hand and muttered something inaudible; this made his eyes glow red, and a sudden gust of wind billow around him. This wind quickly increased in force, and a black magical glyph appeared on the ground beneath him.

Suddenly, Alec's hair turned pitch-black, simultaneously becoming more unruly and extending down to his shoulders. A pillar of black energy suddenly consumed the enigmatic man, then quickly faded, revealing his new outfit.

The black and red, which seemed to be the uniform colors of the Ibis Corps, were present, and the third color this time was gold. It seemed to actually be the dominant color in the entire getup, suggesting that the armor enchantments on him were a lot more impressive, befitting someone far higher in rank.

As the figure reappeared, he was revealed to have his armor spiked as well, although it was neither as light as Deacon's, nor as thick as Zandoris'; Ares' build seemed to be somewhere in between, more of the average type.

Unlike either of the others, he wore a cape that came over either shoulder and fastened on his breastplate. Around his neck was some sort of spiked gold collar with a ruby set into the front, and two swords hung from his hips, one on either side. The ruby looked a lot like the jewel in Richard's Auro Solais—likely a piece of refined Kaisonite, which would make it Ares' wand.

Dan wiped some sweat off his face, muttering, "Goddamn it, the only thing that could be worse than running into Zandoris would be running into the guy he calls Boss!"

Richard noted that Alec —Ares— was showing Richard his true face. That face was calm, but there was an edge to the eyes now, a edge that sent a chill up Richard's spine.

The only way anyone could mistake this face as that of an average Joe was if they couldn't see his eyes; they had turned a cold, malevolent shade of red, gleaming like those of a predator in the depths of the darkest abyss; like a portal to the very depths of hell.

When one looked into them, one saw nothing. Neither love nor hate; anger nor mercy. Eyes without a soul; eyes that saw the world, and everything in it, as tools. They were the eyes of a true killer.

Despite all, Richard steeled himself as much as possible, remembering his accumulated anger and using it to make himself brave. He hefted his sword and pointed it at Ares. "Surrender right now, for all the crimes you've committed or had a hand in.

"I admit, this is not what I expected to happen. However, it's just all the more reason you have to be taken down now!

"Alec, Ares, whatever-your-real-name-is, it's clear you're a blight upon this world, and, no matter how much magic you have, it won't be enough for you to evade judgment!"

Not the least bit miffed, the other man looked to Deacon and gestured at Requiem. "You seriously lost to this!?

"Au contraire, you naive simpleton—my game of darkness is just getting started. My revolution is just about to kick off, and I won't let anyone defy me!"

That only fueled Richard's rage further: Ares was still dismissing him, just like he dismissed everything else that he disliked…just like Salinger had thought so little of the lives he crushed…just like Zandoris had…. It made him tighten his grip on Auro Solais. "I guess there's only one way to find out—but I won't let you treat this as a game! You're trying to cause wars, you're trying to kill people, and it has to end now!"

The golden-armored man stared back a moment, then turned his head to Dan and Voltaire. Pure murder flashed across Ares' eyes as he hissed back, "Oh, please; everything in existence is a game—it's just a matter of whether you're strong enough to get your desired result! If you can't even grasp what I mean, then it'll be my pleasure to help you experience what a true shadow game, of darkness and of death, can be! "

Richard, Voltaire, and Dan saw Ares' bizarre neck ring glow with magic, and the entire room seemed to darken. The leader of the Crimson Tengu Ravens and his comrades braced themselves for the onslaught that seemed sure to soon follow.

Dan was sweating so much he had to wipe his brow; Voltaire wasn't much better. Even Requiem was struggling not to tremble.

This was far worse than Zandoris. The verdict had already been rendered: death. There was no way to win; there was no way to even hurt their foe, if he truly was far worse than the Majin Chevalier. That was why Ares was so calm: he was just going to play with them until he got bored, and then strike them down with a single blow.

Nevertheless, Richard refused to focus on that.

For one thing, such thoughts were only a path to despair. True, they only had a fool's hope, but if he gave up, then they wouldn't have even that. It wasn't like they could run away or hide; it was either stand their ground here, and somehow pull off a miracle, or die.

For another thing, part of his mind was still enraged by everything that had happened as a result of the Ibis Corps' actions: it had left him in this current state, a fugitive of his own family, watching his nation crumble around him, sold out to BMC, with ties to this man…this man who stood there glaring at him with such confidence that Requiem and everything he represented weren't even worth a passing thought in his mind. Richard wanted his revenge, and if this was his only chance to get it, he'd take it.

With that in mind, he steeled himself and managed to lift his blade to the ready once again. Ares smiled at that. "Mustering your hope; good." He turned the smile into a wide grin. "—Those with the most hope feel the most despair when it gets shattered!"