Cross was unprepared for how awkward the meeting with Chance would be.

The Armory was barren, just an assortment of empty weapon racks and blackstone boxes built into the walls with only a scarce number of Casters remaining. It was a similar story for Blackstone armor and batons, Chance and her soldiers had scrapped most of the place.

Cross had been hesitant when Armel had brought her up, given how terrible things looked to be going for her in the flooded crevice outside. He’d explained on the way up, saying the foolish comrades running out into enemy sniper fire was supposed to convince the Blanken they had no easier way in. Cross had no way of knowing how effective the ploy was, but he was more than aware of how damning losing numbers was in their situation.

Despite these misgivings, they did find fully armed Noirites waiting for them at the Armory. With nary a single word, they were ushered into what had once been a room loaded to the brim with Blackstone weaponry and armor.

There was no fanfare for their arrival, just steely gazes partially hidden behind the circular visors of their helmets. It was silent, save for the sparse grumbles of their allies echoing up through the curved halls that linked to and from the large room. Most of the soldiers were keeping watch on those halls, armored hands tightening around Caster triggers and blade handles.

Chance was in the middle of it, lumbering around in that giant tanker outfit whilst pointing out any remaining weapons to her soldiers, who were quick to snatch them. The moment her glowing purple porthole had noticed the new arrivals she gestured towards what gear was left. Cross and the Newblood were quick to start changing into fresh sets of Blackstone armor. Fighting their way up there had left both of their original armor sets notably broken and battered.

But Armel didn’t join them.

He had quickly moved to Chance, who dropped to one knee as he approached. She leaned forward so he could undo the clasps that kept her helmet secure, revealing a face that made Cross freeze in place.

Unlike the clean shells of practically every Noirite in the room, Chance’s entire head was a patchwork of sealed cracks and rebuilt orifices. There wasn’t even one finger’s length of shell that was free of battle damage, with even her eye showing signs of cracks in what should’ve been a smooth surface.  Despite that, she still somehow managed to speak with more clarity than any other member of Formal’s crew.

“The Ring won’t last long.” She’d murmured after Armel finished recounting their trek to the Tower “We don’t have much time.”

“We’ll be dandy, love!” Armel cooed before pressing their foreheads together “Soon as we find Captain Formal, we-!”

“He’s above.” Chance interrupted, with Armel’s smile falling as she pulled back.

Before Armel could speak, a hissed curse drew their attention to a Noirite who was looking over Cole. She had pulled him aside the moment they entered, with her hands pawing at the afflicted gray arm as he grumbled. After another once over, she turned back to see many of her comrades staring at her.

“The Haze,” she nodded to Cole “Comrade’s got a cycle or two before he goes loopy.”

Cole grumbled at that but kept quiet for once as Chance stood tall. One of her massive gauntlets reached back to the tanks of ichor plugged into her suit. Detaching one, she wordlessly tossed it to the Noirite next to Cole.

“Hook him up.” She ordered before lowering down to one knee again “You’ll need it to reach the captain. He never left the helm.”

“What does that mean?” Cross asked as he reached for a proper helmet “Why isn’t Formal here coordinating things?”

“The same reason none of the comrades I sent up have returned.” Chance glanced to the ceiling of the Armory “The Blanken Knight never left, either.”

Cross went still, hand hovering over the helmet as his worries were confirmed.

The Blanken Knight, Lady Khullic, was just a few floors above them. The one who'd single-handedly stormed the tower on her own during the fight in heaven. The one who'd merrily tossed him and dozens of Formal's crew around with nary a hint of effort. The one who'd left him with the wounds Armel would eventually name him for.

Cross couldn't keep his thoughts from going to retribution. All knights were a terror when up against regular pawns, but her defeat would go far in ridding him of his lackluster title. But he'd seen what she was capable of, how being surrounded and outnumbered did little to tip the scales against her.

Besides, they had much less to work with compared to the fight during Towerfall. They had even less numbers,  and not all of those comrades were in tip top shape. 

Cross's eye turned to Cole.

The Noirite was helping secure the Ichor tank to the back of Cole’s armor, extending a sleek black tube from the top of it and sticking it into the back of his helmet. She batted Cole’s hand away when he tried to help with angling the tube, hissing for him to stay still before wrapping a fist against the tank several times.

Cole’s whole body locked up for a moment before he relaxed, leaning forward with a sigh of relief as the Noirite knelt beside him to eye his graying arm.

Cross then looked to the Newblood, who had grabbed a caster from the wall racks and taken it aside. He had been chipping away at it for some time with a black blade, poking and prodding at the barrel whilst mumbling angrily to himself.

“We’re not planning on dealing with a Knight, are we?” Cross asked Armel and Chance “If she’s been up there with Formal all this time then-”

“We aren’t.” she shook her head before nodding to him “You are.”

“Excuse me?” the Newblood finally looked up from his Caster.

Armel held up ahead before stepping away from Chance and looking to the Newblood.

“Is all straightforward, Misser!” Armel broke a piece of Blackstone in two before sticking its pieces to his forearms, seemingly oblivious to the grumble he received “See Chance and ‘em got this whole plan to find the rest of our lads and lead them Blanken on a wild chase across the planet! Should make trackin our cargo easier for us!”

“That still doesn't explain how we're going to beat a Knight.” Cross stood tall at that before gesturing around “Even if every comrade here aided us, she’d rip us apart.”

“The aim is not to beat her, but recover the tracker.” Chance stated, her chipped and battered eye turning on him “The cargo is missing. There was supposed to be a tracker in the cargo hold that could locate it, but Armel says it was likely lost during Towerfall.”

She looked to Armel, who nodded before securing her helmet back on.

“The other is in the helm.” Her voice echoed inside the sealed Tanker helmet “evade the Knight, get the tracker, and it should lead you straight to our cargo while the rest of us distract the Blanken.”

“Slaughter the kiddies.” One of the door guards grunted, receiving nods of agreement from two others.

Cross bit his tongue, closed his eye and mulled over their chances. If the bodies on the lower floors were any indication, any wounds she might’ve suffered during Towerfall hadn’t made her any less lethal. Even if they were able to take her completely by surprise, they'd need some serious firepower if they were going to damage her enough even the odds.

His thoughts were interrupted when something pressed against his chest, he opened his eye to find Armel grinning like a lunatic as he offered him an intact helmet. When Cross looked down, he found that Armel had managed to carve an X into several parts of the helmet in the few moments he hadn’t been looking.

Though the cuts weren’t deep enough to compromise its defensive capabilities, Cross couldn’t help but frown as he stared into its visor.

He wasn’t given much time to stare, however, as a tremor rocked the tower. The entire structure shook, with every Noirite having to ground themselves until it passed.

“Guess they’re almost in.” one of the Noirites mumbled under his breath, prompting Chance to turn and make for the exit.

“Clear out.” She ordered as she and Armel took their leave, with the various soldiers moving from their positions and making for the opposite hall they’d entered from.

Cross grabbed the only caster left and started to follow them, only to pause when the Newblood passed him.

“What’d you do?” Cross asked, pointing towards his caster.

The Newblood looked back before chuckling as he nodded down at his weapon. He’d chiseled several holes into the barrel of the Caster, but they were deep and almost sporadically placed. Unlike the meager additions Armel had made to Cross’s helmet, the Newblood’s Caster looked as if it had been shot by numerous small, blessed beams.

“Just making sure I don’t leave this planet with a name like Misser.” He stated before stroking one gauntlet-covered hand along the side of the pock-marked barrel.

He went still when Cole passed by, the Noirite who had tended to him was emphasizing the importance of protecting his tank.

The Newblood stared after both, before one glance at Cross made him follow the others out.

Cross exited the armory and made his way down the sparse corridor towards an open door that led to the central chamber, several floors above where they’d first entered. Chance was ushering her soldiers to the edge of the ring, many had their arms weighed down by chunks of Blackstone or the last pieces of equipment from the armory. One after another they leaped off the edge and dove into the mess of green sludge several floors below.

Not far from them was Armel, who had opened another panel at the Ring’s edge and was working to get the King’s claw to lower. Cole was approaching, only to stop and turn to wave off the Noirite who'd fixed him. She was following closely behind, checking the the tube carefully.  Cross couldn’t hear what Cole grumbled to her, but it was enough to make her shove him before pointing towards his helmet angrily.

Off to one side, the Newblood was staring at them, tapping his fingers along the barrel of that modified Caster while humming inside his helmet.

Cross took the opportunity to approach Chance, who was watching two more of her soldiers leap off the edge of the ring.

“You hold seniority, right?” he asked.

“Yes,” Chance said without looking at him "I assumed you were informed you of this."

“Its just that you don't speak like Armel or Cole.” Cross shook his head “But that’s irrelevant. I’m wondering if you think we have some chance of escape if that Knight spots us. Even if we find that Tracker, if I’m remembering how fast she can be then-”

“Armel’s skilled at evading certain death.” Chance looked to him “He learned that from the captain, and I trust them to maintain their records.”

“But if we all get killed there’ll be nobody to track the Cargo.” Cross gestured to her “There’ll be no point to leading them on. You’ll be out there pulling hit and runs up until their reinforcements show up and overwhelm you.”

Chance didn’t respond immediately, making Cross grit his teeth as he stared up into her porthole.

Only for the impromptu staring match to be interrupted by another tremor going up through the tower. Chance finally looked down into the ring as pieces of broken blackstone fell from above.  Cross wasn’t going to let up, the plan before them had a glaring Knight-shaped hole in it that couldn’t just be ignored.

But before he could speak again, an arm wrapped around him from behind. His head spun around to see Armel grinning at him.

“Don’t gotta worry ‘bout a thing, Comrade Cross!” he stated before pounding a fist against his chest “This crew’s all about doin’ the impossible! Just look!”

He gestured back towards a large black shape descending from the ring above.

The King’s Claw.

Chance stopped the last of her soldiers from jumping, turning him to face her before speaking.

“Fetcher, you and Wristy will aid them.” She stated.

Fetcher snickered before hefting a large Blackstone rectangle he’d been hauling. He tossed it to Chance, who caught it in one large gauntlet before turning and stepping off the edge and plummeting into the green sludge far below.

“Six soldiers won’t be enough for a Knight.” Cross muttered, only for Armel to give him a shake.

“You’re forgettin’ the captain, comrade!” Armel cheered before pushing away “Chance mentioned he was up there dealin’ with her! We could be just enough to tip things in his favor, see?”

Cross wasn’t convinced. It wasn’t unheard of for Knights to be evenly matched enough to be locked in stalemate battles for a while, but the Blanken Knight was impressively under-armored compared to Formal. If she’d managed to hold him up for so long despite that difference in equipment, Cross couldn’t believe the six of them would make much difference.

“Wristy!” Fletcher shouted past them towards the Noirite who’d been tending to Cole “We’s goin’ with!”

“Obviously, this duller right here’d bust his tank the second I was gone.” She spat, jostling an unimpressed Cole before the Newblood pushed past the two of them “Hey!”

He didn’t speak, merely leaped towards the cage and grabbed hold of one of its bars with one hand.

“Don’t mind Misser, Comrade.” Cole patted her on the back before leaping to the cage and grabbing hold as well “Had a bad streak so far.”

Armel was quick to hurry after them, with Cross stopping Fetcher just as he was beginning to follow.

“What exactly is Communion?” Cross asked, with Fetcher having to hold back laughter before shaking his head.

“Ain’t nothin’ you Newbloods gots to worry ‘bout!” he pulled a Caster off his back and jogged to the others with a snicker, leaving Cross to stew in dissatisfaction before angrily jogging to catch up.

Once they were all hanging onto one of the cage’s bars, Armel loudly slammed a foot against the side of it. It began to rise just as another tremor shook the tower. The King’s Claw didn’t tremble with the rest of the structure, but the sound of broken blackstone crashing against the sides of the cage did make Cross look up to the floors above in concern.

“Have they gotten in yet?” Wristy wondered out loud, making Armel shrug.

“If the glowy bits quit glowin’ or the walls start getting’ blasted open, then we’ll know.” Armel looked around “Won’t be much keepin’ ‘em from blastin’ us apart once that ring goes.”

“Might endanger their knight.” The Newblood offered.

“Like them lots gots any clue what danger is.” Fetcher snickered “Givin’ them kiddies way too much credit, Misser!”

The Newbood went quiet at that name, he just stared as Fetcher fought to hold back his laughter briefly.

“Oi, oi Armless!” Fletcher waved his Caster at Cross “Both these Newbloods we got’s all funny-like. This one’s goin’ around askin’ ‘bout Communin’ of all things!”

He didn’t fight the chuckles anymore, leaning forward with laughter as Wristy tilted her head at Cross in confusion.

“Chance and him are linked.” Cole said.

Fetcher’s laughs died in his throat. Cross couldn’t help but notice Wristy lock up as Armel looked to Cole with a sigh.

“You… really?” Wristy was at a loss for words.

“Had to go bringin’ that up now?” Armel asked Cole, who didn’t even look at him.

Cross could see Misser looking from ally to ally with the same incomprehension that he had. The tense silence that followed as Wristy waited for Armel’s reply only furthered the slow build of tension. Their disbelief was palpable.

“Alright, please.” Cross spoke up “Somebody tell me what Communion is.”

“A dumb trick for cocky pawns.” Fetcher muttered, only for everything to go dark.

The purple lights lining the inner walls all fizzled out almost simultaneously. The hazy glow they’d provided left all of them blinded at once.

“The Refinery.” Armel’s voice made Cross turn to look down.

The central chamber was nearly pitch black, save for several faint lights down below. About three of them were moving around the lowest floor. But Cross didn’t have long to peer at them.

The darkness was driven away by several blessed beams soaring up after them.