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Petra Soroka	The dreamlike school isn't given the dignity of a quick death when the shadows start creeping in.     When the Elites reconvene in the gym with the four freed Magical Girls and Angela, there's a pop from the speakers where X's voice had been rambling on about the announcements for the day. His babbling is replaced by nothing but harsh static, emanating from every speaker, in every hallway, low and dimly scratching on the periphery of your hearing. A moment later, after adjusting to the static buzz, you realize what other sounds have vanished: Gebura and the others on the court have gone completely silent besides the squeaking of their shoes on the floor, and the thump of the volleyball each time they hit it. There's no more chatter, no more gasps of exertion or shouting, and they're all unresponsive to attempts to call out to them, mechanically still going through the motions of the game.     Petra pops up from where she was sitting on the bleachers forcefully enough that she stumbles over the one below her, nearly pulling Cinder down with her. "The Silent Orchestra?! Still?" Her shout is deadened by the walls, swallowed back into silence without an echo. Her spear wavers, and her boot slips off the bleacher, where she was prepared to launch off and sprint all the way back to the auditorium. Automatically becoming uncomfortable raising her voice in the smothering quiet, she hushes herself to a stage whisper. "... No, it's different. Nihil, I guess."     It'd be so convenient if the Magical Girls had some intrinsic connection to the Jester that could be tapped into to find out where it is; a justly earned reward for saving the four of them, that they band together and give the protagonists the way forwards to wrapping up the story. Ishirou can extend his senses out, but floor after floor after floor of reinforced concrete, layered with illusions and darkened wishes, even limits his vision. There's no trail to follow, no pattern of behavior to estimate, no goals that can be intercepted. Wandering through the halls, hoping to stumble across it, is an act of pure, random meaninglessness.     Having seen what the Magical Girls looked like under Nihil's influence, it feels inevitable for the university dressing to turn out this way, but still it's nearly impossible to notice the slow degradation of the school until it's already well on its way. Color leeches away in the sullen grey light flickering from the hazy florescent panels above. Monochromatic smoke hangs still in the air, swirling only briefly when the Elites pass through it. Bits of wall and ceiling flake away, showing only black and white static behind them.     Each student they see-- trudging through the halls, scrawling repetition in notebooks, lifelessly flipping pages-- is dead silent and more lethargic in their routine by the minute. They're all so obviously miserable. It's all so obviously pointless. Why do they keep walking to their next class as if anything will change when they get there? The dream rots to pieces around them and they don't even stop to notice it. Maybe that's smart. All that being aware of the inexorable slide into oblivion does is tempt you into meeting it sooner.
Petra Soroka	There's Rose, with her forehead pressed against the wall. Not dead yet-- look, she's rolling over, lurching a few steps more towards the classroom door down at the end of the hall; how responsible. Isn't it nice that a wish can bring M.O.M. back where you couldn't? He's sitting on the floor, sluggishly assembling a rudimentary desk out of metal and wood peeled out of the decaying structure. Parker stares into a mirror inside her locker, applying eyeliner onto her leathery skin mask, even though there's smears of old eyeliner already there. Caked on layers of masks, reapplied every day, black paint on flesh dessicated pale. There's others, obviously, hundreds of them, but you haven't learned their names. Why bother, when even if you save them today, they'll just die tomorrow or tomorrow or tomorrow?     The air is warm, and still, and dry, and the indeterminate particles of smoke scratch in your lungs. It feels wrong to say anything, like you'll be in trouble for breaking the silence; Petra speaks up anyways, because the lingering tinnitus of Meika's attacks is driving her insane in the quiet. She still doesn't feel comfortable raising her voice above a conspiratorial hush.     "... This should be it, though, right? There's no more surprises coming after the Jester? No one's invited any more friends to fuck everything up?" She heaves out a harsh sigh, swirling black particulate in front of her mouth. "I guess we'll deal with it if it comes. It's just been a long night."
Petra Soroka	Another loop through the Religion Department of the monochrome and putrefying school, and suddenly, there's a hallway branched off to the side that wasn't there before. Maybe Tamamo's light illuminated it through the shadows, maybe Meika pierced the illusion with her echolocation, maybe Ishirou saw it or Solty heard the open space, but none of that is really why. It feels, deep down, that it's just unstable luck that you found it now, and not in another hour of wandering, when half the facility would've already been unrecoverably dead.     Unlike the rest of the facility, this hallway doesn't even make an effort to look like a school, featurelessly leading to a dark, equally featureless room. The only thing in it is a piano dead center, that flickers with dim light in time with seemingly random notes being played, until you look up.     Hanging from the ceiling is a Jester in black and white clothes, its eyes scratched out and its mouth grinning wide across its whole face. It *hangs*-- because bursting from its chest, disappearing into the depthless shadows of the ceiling, are twisted branch-like tentacles, characteristic of almost every Sephirah Meltdown so far. The tentacles are slick with green fluid-- the first color you've seen in what feels like forever, even amongst yourselves, besides what Tamamo's sunlight reveals-- and it runs down the Jester's dangling arms, dripping off of its limp fingers, to land on the piano keys below.     Each note grates on your ears. The colorless flashes of light that accompanies the faked-real music are familiar to Meika, and anyone who's paid attention to her magic. The Jester doesn't lift its head, still only hanging by the single point from its chest, but it twists to the side to watch the Elites enter.     "Here we all meet, at the end of the path, together."            __________________________________________________________                      |ARNING-WARNING-WARNING-WARNING-WARNING-WARNING-WARNING W|                      ¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯|=|????? CLASS THREAT|=|¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯                                       ¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯                                                           The Jester of Nihil                                          __________________________________________________________                      |ING-WARNING-WARNING-WARNING-WARNING-WARNING-WARNING-WARN|                      ¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯¯           BGM: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v54u5P1VlE0
Madeleine Cadrasteia	Madeleine takes the lead in scouring the halls for the Jester - even worn out from the Silent Orchestra, she's still one of the greatest hunters in the Concord. Between Ishirou and Solty's perception, Tamamo's light, and the huntress's intuitions the entire crew makes their way to the Jester's recital room. "Oh gods, more music," Madeleine groans. "Very well."     She's one of the first into the room. "Oy!" She shouts. "Get down from there and face us! Show us this 'end of the path' that you're so excited for!" Drogrung flexes into a recurve bow as Madeleine draws the weapon from her back. She looses a steady stream of black arrows, aimed directly for the Jester, hoping to force the thing to move or at least to test its defenses.
Ishirou	Ishirou gathers back with the others, with the magical girls, on the search for Nihil.  He scans out, trying to do everything he can... instead what he sees is the slow degradation of the illusion... the slow transformation of the school.  The darkness slowly started to take over, the hopelessness started to sink into everything.  For a moment, it's hard to not let it sink into himself.   Ishirou spots the Jester, but it feels like it wasn't so much that he spotted it, but that the luck it was using to avoid them degraded to such a degree.  That an interaction between them was inevitable... that despite everything it might want they were going to meet.  Or perhaps that is what the Jester wants.   The fluid from its tentacles drips, hitting the keys in a discordant tone.  His head rings with pain, but before it can send another blast of discordant notes, he attempts to drop a barrier between them.  It partially works, allowing the electromagnetic force to repel enough of the sound away to let him avoid the majority of it grating and causing his eardrums to rupture.   POD deploys, firing a barrage of energy blasts toward the Jester in response, aiming to try and pin it down for Madeleine and Lilian specifically, while moving himself around the outside of combat to best place shots from POD.
Angela	Angela had excused herself to go downstairs for a moment, after 'reabsorbing' Carmen--that is, allowing her neural connection to Carmen to resume. By the time she returns, she has apparently elected to replace the King of Greed's EGO Gear with a different set. She is wearing a buckled strap along the lower portion of her face and has a giant hammer in her hands that looks real heavy with several wrapped layers of metal forming a trash-can like shape. She carries it effortlessly--but she just seems to be wielding the weapon as she is still wearing the outfit Lilian saw her in at that online game--though she has kept her hair long, importantly. "Mphh..." She says. "...Mph! ... Frhmhgn..." Angela reaches up to lower the face mask for a moment, "Commander. Thank you for sending a rescue team. I decided to keep my hair long and--" She trails off for a moment. "Ah, I suppose this is a bad time, as we are out of it." Cinder stumbles as Petra pulls on her and...she's starting to have a rough go of it honestly. "Am I seeing the world fall apart?" She asks. Those still under the spell continue to act as if oblivion wasn't nearing. Angela closes her eyes, using her own connection to the facility's systems. "Mm... No good. So much for being a cakewalk." She sighs. She's never going to say that again. "The Jester is unusual in that they primarily attack the spirit but that does not mean falling to him could not be fatal. Keep your spirits up for a little while longer if you can." She can't even say it declaratively. Angela startles a bit upon seeing M.O.M up and about. She takes a steady breath. The reset is still possible and... She is being trailed by the four magical girls. "Lady Angela, let us help! We caused this mess, so the least we can do is help put a stop to it!" "The scales of justice would not be satisfied with allowing this creature to destroy a school." "They invade our kingdom? We'll see how they feel out about my fist!" "Let us put an end to this night." Angela looks to Petra as she asks about 'invited friends' coming to fuck things up. "Hahnn... Hopefully not. This facility cannot take any more. But if we're able to persevere here... It bodes well for the future..." "...Does it not?" There is a laconic uncertainty in the tone. Angela doesn't have psionic defenses. Tiphereth lingers behind, being pretty incapable of fighting but she wants to help encourage the group. She looks at Netzach and the Jester possessing him. "...It seems that the Jester has wholly integrated with our systems. It could be...quite terrible if we are unable to detangle him. And ... ... Hold on, have they evolved? That is Meika's magic isn't it? It should only be the four from the Labs..." She bites at her lip in frustration. Could Meika have really been right and that her magical girls were like the ones of the Holy Refulgence? This isn't going to bode well for reports later considering how often she's covered for her... "I refuse to let it end here." Angela says. "It is unacceptable. For the first time we've gotten this far, I refuse to allow you or anyone force us to retreat on this path we've made. This is not the end of the path..." She unshoulders her hammer. "But the end is in sight..." And because she knows just how dangerous the Jester can be--she doesn't attack it yet. "ARCANA SLAVE!!" But Love does!! A pink ray of energy explodes out towards the Jester as she steps forward triumphantly. "You have to face all of us now, Jester...! I ... may just be a Girl now, but we can still defeat you and save our new home! ... well our old home but-- .... shutup!"
Aidan Proudpick	"I don't despise Petra." It takes a moment to run through those feelings. "I feel bad for her some. Hate her some. But..." He looks at Malkuth and the King of Greed. "She would kill everyone just to save Angela. She found relationships," Some of them WILDLY FUCKED UP, he doesn't say outloud, "and I've been looking for anything easy." Anything where he didn't have to listen to the radio. To feel too small and weak again. "It's really easy to get normal people to pretend to like you in some parts of the Multiverse." He turns back. "No, I've never despised her." Molten lead infuses every part of Aidan's body. He's never been this exhausted before, even struggling to breathe on the East Wind while he was tended to by Hazelthistle. His brain feels like it is wrapped in a layer of cotton, begging for sleep to process everything. Begging for weeks, years, to store everything the King of Greed dredged up, that he dredged up to try and coax the Magical Girl of Happiness back out. Weights of exhaustion pull at his wrists and ankles. His tail drags behind him on the ground, like a limp duster. He has to actively concentrate to keep his eyes open. Adrenaline will help with that, he know. He will be able to move and think as soon as the battle begins. "Blessed breeze, just let me live through this and everyone get out alive." He throws himself up against a set of bleachers, going through breathing exercises to pull the covering from his mind. As dark smoke appears, Aidan turns his head up, quickly looking around. He's gotten VERY wary of reality changing at this point. Walking through the school. Watching people go through their motions. Desperate to find any outlet. Desperate to just keep going. To see it, written plain. Like a bludgeon against his soul. Blood is already pumping through Aidan's veins at the sight. Fake things to play on his mind. To play on his fears. To dig into his brain and try and force the littlest fear into reality. Ever since the train. He sets his feet into the ground and puts all of his weight behind his buckler. The tentacle slams into it with a meaty thump, crashing Aidan back and down to the ground, a hard smash of his hips. Aidan summons a ball of wind once more, gathering it from the surrounding air. "I'm going to be the best damn Knight for my town, just not the strongest." He squeezes it down, forcing the ball smaller. Then, a ragged swallow. Air, glorious air, rushing into his finger tips, into his blood, circulating around him. He felt every breath, every pump of his heart. What did Lilian say? Never go out without armor? Wind swirls around Aidan, around his chest, around his arms. He's made a thousand walls before, but never one around himself. Never one that moves and flexes. Aidan breaks into a sluggish run, pumping his arms back and forth to drive his body forward, anything to get back up to the Jester, to leap, and to bring his shield around in a circle to clock the Jester with the edge of it. "Let them all GO!"
Captain Hook	A slow, ominous, uncomfortable death doused in silence and grey. A slow, ominous ending. Misery drenched in mundanity. The end of everything in the shape of sorrow.      He's been here before. He's been to this place, to the edge of oblivion. He's stood on the edge of the cliff, and just when he was about to fall when he had already fallen he was saved by the kindness of strangers. In the silence, in the loneliness, when he had been about to take a step off the cliff when he had already stepped off hands had caught him, had pulled him back up from the deep.      And here he is again. In a dream turning grey.      The feeling of Neverland crawls up his spine and into his ear. The intrusive little thoughts that are no one's but his own, for no one else can put thoughts in William Hook's mind, underline it. This was a fun little dream of a college campus, and here goes the colour, not even bleached away but slowly and painfully degraded. The people, slowly,not even moving. Grinding, painful apathy that's not even painful - just comfortable.      That's the problem, isn't it? When life becomes a drug you've overdosed on and all the sensory input fades away to leave you with nothing but grey. Empty, endless oceans of grey.      "This is," Hook says quietly, "Just what I expected."      And it is.      But he's the survivor casualty of Neverland. He knows how to deal with it.      "Joy," Hook says as they walk through the halls, limping on his crutch, "Anger, love, hate, anything you can grab onto. Feelings are manifest in a dream land and this is a dream land by all the measures I can make. They're always real, always true, but here they are law, and you need to hold onto them."      "All of them," he adds with a thump of his crutch, "Any of them. One of them. Pick one, and rotate through it, and burn it until you can't feel it anymore, and then find another. Don't ignore them, not even sadness. Not even sorrow. Not even pain. Don't ignore any of them."      "And for God's sakes, no matter what you do, don't reject the arguments. Examine them, *listen* to them, and *fight* them, but don't *reject* them. 'That isn't true, that isn't who I am' is a death knell in a place like this." and you know it well dead man walking      Hook continues to limp along with the rest of the group. To Angela, he says, "I promise," and nothing else. He glances at Lilian, and then sighs.      "Afraid I'll have to lean on you a bit for the physical. Do my best to keep spirits up, and give me a listen now and then, and I'll keep you up so you don't have to stand on your own."      "And that goes for the rest of you!" Hook barks sharply as they enter the room, "Keep your ear to the wind and listen when I call and we'll be right as rain!" He puts on an exhausted smile-      And the notes begin to sing. His fingers twitch. Pain. Pain to remind you. Pain to keep you focused, aye? hurting yourself to escape despair familiar      "Hello there," Hook says to the Jester, removing his hat politely and bowing his head, "Captain William Hook, at your service."      "Tell me your story, and I'll listen with all ears. I imagine it's quite a good one."
Rufus Shinra	Rufus Shinra is not doing so well. Facing down the Orchestra was easy. 'Was easy' should be read in the same context of someone saying 'It's not the fall that kills you'. Facing down the orchestra was easy, dealing with it was not. And Rufus didn't *really* deal with it, either. Really, right now, he should be infuriated with himself and his own failure. And - well, he is! He's livid. But that lividness is overshadowed by a different emotion. For the first time in his life that he can remember, Rufus Shinra is afraid. > "The Silent Orchestra?! Still?" Rufus, having made his way in just a few moments prior, wheels around and stares at Petra. For a brief moment, before he can control himself, before he realizes that no it's not the Orchestra again, she can see his true emotions in his eyes. And then the moment passes. Rufus is chill. Rufus is suave. Rufus is calm and absolutely not freaking out. What a silly idea. ... He is actively looking around for the source of the music in a distinctly non-calm way, though. "Hah. Talking as though you're eager for this to be over." He feels he has to say something, to keep up his cover. "I'd be fine if it turns out we're just getting started." > "The Jester is unusual in that they primarily attack the spirit but that does not mean falling to him could not be fatal. Keep your spirits up for a little while longer if you can." Well, that's great. Rufus doesn't have anything to say (constructive or not) as they trudge through the halls. This is what he came for, right? Seeing things unfold. Adventure and miracles and tragedies and exciting things. This isn't... supposed to be how it goes. He's not supposed to be worried that he could end up as one of these spirtless husks. > "Here we all meet, at the end of the path, together." Rufus stares up at it. Then his shotgun snaps upwards, and he fires. He slams another set of bullets in, and fires again, and again. He's pushing himself harder, trying to do this faster, not out of bravery or bravado or some deep sense of willpower. He's fighting harder so that he can just get out of here in one piece.
UFO Gang	Minamitsu and Nazrin troop in with the others and with the liberated Malkuth. At the strange static of the speakers... "Radio," Nazrin muses. "Huh? Radio?" Minamitsu asks. "What's going on with that radio," muses the mouse-youkai, before her ear flicks. She seems to sense something. It doesn't seem to be 'the same thing' as others, though, and she doesn't comment on it. They move along. A walk through the graying, rotting school. Minamitsu bites her lip as they follow the light of Tamamo throughout. It's like the world is... dying? Fading? Or being forgotten? What would it be like to be truly forgotten -- while you were alive? Nazrin walks with a steady purpose. When the light illuminates the doorway, Nazrin says: "Aha." "What do you mean, aha?!" that's Minamitsu right there. "I mean we have to be near 'The Way Out,'" Nazrin observes. "Maybe not literally. But it's just the way things work." They step further... and it's Minamitsu who lets out a sudden and not-really-human shriek at the SIGHT of the thing. She has seen much weird shit here, most of which has fallen under the interior category of the horrors of death and fantasy. This one, in its discordant echoes, makes her heart quail. Minamitsu looks to Captain Hook as he speaks. "Y - yeah," she says. "You do the talking," Nazrin says to her. "huh?!" "Because if 'They're here,' that means there's a way out," Nazrin states. "This Nihil business is dealing with it, but I'm no good with people. So, cuz I have to, I'll do the fighting right now." "Y-- you're sure?!" "That's just how it is," says Nazrin -- who floats up into the air as her magic gathers. It keeps gathering as she turns her sullen gaze towards the Jester. AND WHERE DID ALL OF THOSE MICE COME FROM? Running out, probably from the walls, possibly from behind people's ankles, perhaps having been trailing them all along, are mice! Field mice! Dozens - hundreds - perhaps thousands of them, moving with purpose and speed in a chorus of subtle squeek-squeeks as they form... lines? "Bishamonten sends his regards," Nazrin says, before throwing up a hand. "GO!" AS IF BY SORCERY OR SOME SORT OF RODENTIKINESIS, the mice take flight, surging forwards in serried ranks and curving around to coalesce and hurl themselves onto the Jester. They are small, yes, but each of them seems fatter and more vigorous than your run of the mill field mouse, and they have something else field mice don't generally have: A taste for flesh.
Kukuru	To Kukuru, the school seems so much more foreboding now than it did before. It was so vibrant and full of life earlier, but the noise coming from the speakers makes everything feel dreary to her now. Those pleasant noises of the Sephirah and the Agents just enjoying themselves are nowhere to be found, and the unceasingly mechanical squeaks send a shudder through Kukuru as she drags her feet on the way to the gym. She probably created a teleportation cloud to get there sooner, but she had to fudge the arrival point a bit. Still, probably just outside the gym and not on top of anyone. The problem is, the jester is nowhere to be seen. She doesn't know where to go, and she turns to Petra for guidance when she brings up the Silent Orchestra and Nihil. "Were... Did we not stop it?" She lets out a pained noise as she sees so many of the students looking far more dead now than some of them ever did as corpses. "Gotta find it soon... Gotta find it." Kukuru repeats to herself to try and break up that horrible silence. The feeling of wrongness inherent to that keeps her quieter than she would normally be, but she can imagine it being even worse for her family and her friends. Someone has to do it and take the blame. "No one's invited any more friends to fuck everything up?" "I didn't think anyone else would come here. I... I wouldn't wanna bring anyone else in here, with things like this already." "I don't despise Petra." "I feel bad for her some. Hate her some. But..." "Aidan, dear?" Kukuru's not frowning, but she's not smiling. Her face is just held in a neutral, yet terribly tense way.  "What are you talking about?" At first, Kukuru doesn't even notice the new hallway. She's just feeling gross going through these halls and these departments and seeing all these students getting worse and worse. Her survival instincts keep telling her to leave, to just go, to stop worrying about everyone else, but seeing everyone else sticking it out keeps her heart from listening to her brain. Everyone's come so far to save Angela at this point, and she's certainly not going to abandon her here. She sticks close to Angela, too, partially out that protective nature of hers, and partially because... Part of Kukuru is scared, too, but she needs to be strong, so she doesn't create more problems for Angela or Lilian. That returning resolve comes just in time, too, as the hallway eventually does come into view, and the visual change alone is a welcome sight even if it's too jarring to be a coincidence. The Jester would be a welcome sight with that splash of color, too, if it didn't also look like the Sephirah and remind her of what they looked like when they died. Breathing through her teeth as she looks up at the horrible Jester, Kukuru immediately regrets listening at all as that grating noise blasts her ears(?) enough that she drops to her hands and knees from the sudden shock pounding through her skull. "The Jester is unusual in that they primarily attack the spirit but that does not mean falling to him could not be fatal. Keep your spirits up for a little while longer if you can." Hissing as recovers her balance, Kukuru digs her hands, still covered in the fuzzy whiteness of the EGO weapon SO CUTE!!!, into the ground to start tearing off a huge chunk of it. She takes another deep breath as Angela declares her own intentions, eventually nodding firmly at her in response "End of... That's right. Right! We need to finish this here so we can go home. Everything'll be okay, dears. Everything'll be okay!" Even though doubts still plague Kukuru's mind, she's still going to try and get everyone else's spirits raised. Holding onto the slab of tile, concrete, cement, what have you, she spins in place a few times before launching it at the Jester of Nihil like a shotput. It's not a particularly involved attack, though, as she's taking a cue from Angela holding back to focus on keeping that healing nanite stuff moving around the room at a steady pace.
Dysnomia	"Almost done," Dysnomia said. She could have been agreeing with Petra. She could have been talking to herself.     She couldn't quite keep herself together. Coherent. Solid. She'd split herself too much, made herself thin. She felt like a too-small masked, stretched over a skull. She bled substance, slowly limping after her along the ground. She kept her fists clenched tight at her sides.     No matter where she went, no matter what she did, the path was laid out for her. She didn't need to breath. She couldn't breath. She found herself gasping, hand on the side of of the decaying school's wall, as the universe fell in on itself. She didn't know what to do. I don't know what to do. Tell me. Tell me! I don't want to die!     She shudders, slumping down against the wall, her body beginning to blur, dissolve. They think being made of will makes you invincible. Dysnomia laughed, and--     "Joy...Anger, love, hate, anything you can grab onto. Feelings are manifest in a dream land and this is a dream land by all the measures I can make. They're always real, always true, but here they are law, and you need to hold onto them."     Hook was an immovable object, untouchable by story's stroke or psychic feather. But he was an open book. A man who knew what he was doing. Dysnomia seized the echoes of his thoughts. "Anger." She whispered, and then pushed herself up, her edges growing a little firmer to look upon. "I can do...Anger. Rolling over for death...Pisses me off." She takes a step. And then another. And another.     "Here we all meet, at the end of the path, together."     "Don't...Intend it to be the end of mine." Her voice still sounded... a little dull. She was terrified to spread herself out, to split her body apart. Would she ever coalese again...? "The enemies of your kingdom rise against you, Nihil. The Knight, the King, the Queen and the Servant stand against you. The shape of the story...demands your downfall."
Solty Revant	After returning to the gym Solty stayed close to the members of her party and naturally to Angela. But, she also tries out a bit of cheering again. She didn't go to school, so watching sports and cheering and generally being in school.      As the darkness flows down, Solty looks around nervously. The speakers start playing that strange static and Solty covers her ears as best she can. It doesn't really help with her ears being so strong. As color drains and students start losing energy she gasps...or means to, but the sound hardly comes out.      "Nihil...so they did show up." Solty doesn't entirely understand still, but she knows that something really bad and strong was supposed to show up when all four magical girls came together.      As they walk through the hallways she gets more and more concerned. "A-all these people are in danger..." she says just barely above a whisper. Her fists clench, and that anger at people who hurt other people for no good reason rises again combined with determination to save these people and Angela even though she doesn't seem to want saving. And also looks like she's perfectly capable of saving herself. Captain Hook speaks up and Solty nods lightly, thinking about what he said. Hold on to emotions, whatever they may be. She has a few to hold on to.      Which does make Solty wonder...why hasn't Angela or Carmen or whoever they are now escaped? What are they trying to do that needs this terrible facility? Is the Seed of Light that important?      Hook is limping along. Solty catches up to him and smiles lightly. "I can carry you for a bit if you'd like, Captain." she says, even giving a small salute as one might expect of a child.      If accepted, she'd carry him at least to the piano room then set him down again. The scene is very spooky, and...her ears lower heavily when she sees Nihil dangling from the roof like that, his green blood(?) dripping onto the piano. She covers her ears again and shudders. The grating notes are especially harsh on her sensitive ears. The magical girl beams come out, but Solty doesn't really think much of it. Ignorance is bliss as they say. Which is why Solty also leaps right to the attack! Her fists gain the familiar orange-yellow glow of her energy generation power, then that glow flows over her entire body. "Stop this right now! Everyone here could be safe if you just let us go!" she exclaims. She uses Love's beam as cover fire to leap upward, aiming one of those glowing fists where Nihil's tentacles sprout from his chest.
Timespace Riders	Sougo waves an arm, trying to make himself obvious to those he passes, on the way out of the Technology wing. At first, it's cheery waves; indulging in the dream on his way to gently rouse them from it. But it doesn't last, much in the same way that the dream deteriorates. A frown spreads quickly, as the Demon King takes measure of the people he passes.     It only worses, with the decay of the school--the souring of a sad, pretty fantasy into a hollow lie, told to stave off looking at the misery all around. He flinches, as if struck, when his soft brown eyes land on M.O.M. When his attempts to rouse the agent, to say something, make any kind of connection, fall on deaf ears, tears well up in his eyes.     Woz, wearing a tight-lipped frown, places a hand on Sougo's shoulder, and squeezes.     The two of them enter mysterious hallway, after some wandering, with Sougo wiping the sleeve of his now-dusty, motheaten school uniform across his face, tear-streaks dampening a path across it. Here we all meet, at the end of the path, together. Pick one, and rotate through it, and burn it until you can't feel it anymore, and then find another. Don't ignore them, not even sadness. Not even sorrow. Not even pain. Don't ignore any of them.     "Okay," says Sougo, sniffling. "I'll take your advice, Captain."     Turning to face the Jester properly, "It hurts to be reminded of the people I've lost. It hurts, to be reminded of how hard this place is, for them. I'm exhausted, and I'm tired, and I'm sad, because so many people need me and right now, I don't have much left to give. But... it's not the end. If you think this is the end, you don't understand what those people mean to me. You're confusing a battle for a war, and even if I lose one, I don't have any choice but to win the other."     Woz steps forward. "I am told, Jester, that horror and comedy share a common thread." he says, his hands held wide, indicating the decay, ruin and misery all around. His eyes still misty, his voice shaking and trembling, he asks another question. "I wonder--do you find the misery around us fitting, for your 'material?'"     "Or do you mean to frighten us, with dark corners and what might lurk beyond them? To drive us, cowering, from the uncertainty, the vulnerability of hope? The terror, that one might reach for joy, and stumble?"     Woz takes Sougo's hand.     Sougo smiles. "'Face the fear. Build the future.'"     Both of them procure their belts.
Timespace Riders	"Henshin."     "Henshin!"                       ARMOR TIME! X Marks the Spot! HOOK!                               Future Time! Fashion! Passion! Question! Futurering Quiz! QUIZ!             The knightly, mirrored Zi-O II armor appears for just a moment, before it's bathed in a rain of gold coins, glittering gems and coveted crown jewelry. The pauldrons and fauld have changed, exaggerated to resemble a pirate captain's coat, black in color yet sporting a trim of Zi-O's distinctive pink. His helmet sports a flare at the top, to render its silhouette similar to a pirate's hat. One hand holds a pirate's saber; the other a futuristic rendering of a flintlock pistol--and on the right wrist, a hook is mounted.     Woz, meanwhile, wears the Quiz armor, having taken Hook's suggestion just as much as his king had. Its red and blue details, overlaid atop Woz's smartwatch-themed armor, might give one the impression that it has to do with trivia--until, holding his question-mark-tipped cane, he asks his first question.     "O or X? Many loops have come and gone, without rejuvenating the Seed, and many here are weary of it." A pleasant 'ding' sounds as one of his question-mark pauldrons swings open, revealing a satisfying red O. It's true--and nothing seems to happen. "The correct answer is O."     The pauldron swings shut. Another question. "O or X? I regret helping Angela, and consider her mission a waste of time, knowing all that is against us." The Rider's question-marked helmet slowly turns towards Angela. An angry buzzer sounds. The opposite pauldron swings open, revealing an icy-blue X. "The correct answer is X."     A stormcloud roils into existence above the Jester, and a bolt of lightning crashes into them.
Tamamo	It feels, deep down, that it's just unstable luck that you found it now, and not in another hour of wandering, when half the facility would've already been unrecoverably dead.     Tamamo's luck is inexplicably, bafflingly, extremely, consistently good.     She's made sure of it, tonight. Against some threats, there's no better defense than the whims of Fate, and what is a jester, if not whimsical?     'Here we all meet, at the end of the path, together.'     'And for God's sakes, no matter what you do...'     She thinks.         Was this inevitable? Yes.         Is her path elsewhere? Contradiction. All are here, now.         Is this not the end? The story ends here.     "The end of one path is the beginning of two. The final chapter of the story is the latest that was written. Beyond the void of nothingness is the unknown 'something is there.'"     It's not as if she is unaffected by this long night. She has worn down considerably, to the extent that long days and nights will be needed for recovery. Her supplies dwindle yet further, in placing a greater priority on the appearance of strength in the moment, of calm dignity, than in what it will cost her, later. Placed wards crackle with the effort of protecting her.     "For now, let us see to one conclusion, shall we?"     '... well our old home but-- .... shutup!'     "Just so, Ms. Love."     Tamamo reaches out again to touch the threads, and find where those of the four magical girls touch the jester. Perhaps Fate will need a little more adjustment. 'Luck' is something one seizes for oneself, after all.
Meika Kirenai	The static from the speakers makes the hairs on the back of Meika's neck prickle. It takes the magical girl a lot longer- second, not minutes- than she'd like to parse that no words came over, just that awful buzz. It takes even longer for her to realize the world has gone silent- not because she doesn't hear it drop away, but because a little, aching, itching, acid-etched and burning-up part of her thinks that maybe, just maybe, something had been miscalculated and happened too soon, and the power and duty at her fingertips had finally been revoked.     It'd make sense. God messed up, the first time, giving her this, didn't He?     Meika tastes blood before she realizes she's biting at her lip, before she realizes the folly of that, even with how unintuitive it is to grasp that once she loses everything, she won't have to bear realizing she had. It's not possible to picture, really. That's never stopped her imagination from betraying her.     There's still more to do, for now. It's awful. It hurts. Wouldn't it be worse if there wasn't?     It's on instinct as the march goes on, in the abject hush, that Meika's own bootfalls, own breaths, own heartbeat, are silenced too. Hallways fade to monochrome, and it's barely a notable difference- Meika fits in with the crowds and surroundings better, now, that they're so washed out and dull, well enough that shoulders bump awkwardly, and she stumbles by, like she's not even there. That's fine. I get it.     Further and further and further and further. Meika traces a hand on a cracked locker, and doesn't even look at the static lurking behind the tear. Her fingertips f-f-flicker, and it widens like a can opener's doing- thin metal that ought to make a sound stays silent, and its jagged edges come away dusted and smeared wrong. Scratching at scabbing-over rot just to see the blood well up again. Meika doesn't bother to think how her fingers will need another bandage on them.     Smoke swirls in eddies at little motions, hanging weightlessly enough Meika wishes it could burn and choke. When she closes her eyes, it's all so achingly close to familiar, in that empty-hollow way, that if she tried- or didn't, it's not that hard -it could feel like a normal day back home, save the muted chatter of companions.     Wandering makes Meika feel helpless, even if there's that dizzying sense of the illusion never quite matching up to what's tangible and solid. No- worse than helpless: uselessly unhelping, like she isn't even trying, can't even muster the will to bother. Isn't that fitting? Useless at best, harmful at worst, what good can be found in clawing out another day after another day when you don't even deserve the breaths you've taken this far?     {"It's kind of pretty, right?"} It's so hard to tell if Meika's whisper is words or a thought, in its hushed clarity- with everyhing else so muffled and silent, though, it's undirected, finding anyone's ears who makes to listen. {"...Is that silly? It feels bad that it is."}     Meika doesn't look at anyone as she walks. Her oft-uncomfortably saturated eyes are glassy, mostly-lidded, and pointed at the floor, the walls, the crumbling cieling panels. The only hint she gives of noticing the presence of the others, here, is a slight flinch at Petra's words about inviting others- followed by no sound of a guilty cough.
Meika Kirenai	No sounds come from her but a handful of ugly, musing whispers, in the vein of her previous ones- they're not the easiest thing in the world to latch into memory, like cast-out ambling thoughts, half-formed and stillborn. Not until she hears the piano- where on recognizing the familiarity, her breath finally audibly hitches.     That's- {"That's... not right. It's not supposed to..."} Meika's magic-laced words are supposed to come easy, and that she's struggling even to keep clarity and coherence with them, without saying anything louder, is eerie. But these whispers still aren't hidden- not even to the Jester, even if it feels like listening to the magical girl's words comes with a fraction of the guilt she's drowning in. {"Give it back. That's not- that's mine. You can't take that from me, I don't w-want you to..."}     There's no real fight in her, as she silently scoots near the edge of the Jester's room, staring up at it. She fumbles with her sports bag, struggling to get it off her shoulder, to tear open its zipper, back to where she'd stowed her precious notebook and its precious pages and how few of them remain, how little time there is, how badly she's burning it up, how few bridges there are left that don't smolder.     Against a wall, she slides down- finally getting it out, her book, her jacket- Oh, god- That it's been days since Meika remembered trapping Drop in there, as she left home, comes back into memory just to realize the Cherub isn't there anymore. A few meters away, the nasty creature sits, hunched like a tiny gargoyle, its doppler-striped black and white pattern static against the monochrome hellscape, even as its outline shifts into a mockery of a silent yawn.     That's all Meika accomplishes, in the opening moments, as people call upon the last dregs of their strength to press on. To stumble against the wall, scramble for something, and lock eyes with the wretched little helper of hers, and stay there, helplessly frozen, as oblivion itself taunts the world with something stolen.
Hibiki Tachibana	But it'd be simple for Petra.     Overhearing every word, Hibiki simply clicks her tongue under her breath. "...You don't know the half of it." You know what those girls want.     There isn't a response. Any one of them. Act.     "I told you not to worry about me any more than you should." The defensiveness makes it into her voice this time.     ...     Hibiki isn't in the best of mindsets for fighting Nihil now, which ironically gives credence to Lilian's earlier mention of most of them not being fit for it. What should be a second wind after getting Courage and the other Magical Girls back becomes a heavy weight on the heart the longer they move onward through the steadily dismantling of Lobotomy U. Seeing Rose like that makes her want to rush over to help her up - even though it'd just be a bandaid on a symptom.     ...Everything here is just a bandaid on a symptom, isn't it? Anyone she saves. Just like the clerks rushing to recover Enkephalin, during the Meltdown. Save the people in front of her...? She can't even do that much. All that talk back to Exigent Serenity before this doesn't add up to anything then, does it? Waiting for the plot to progress. Is that what she's doing? Even right now, running herself as ragged as she can?     This really is the worst. 'Can't even be what you want to be'. If she can't do that, what is she here for? If she could live in the world where all of this was that easy, she would. And...     ...There's the maganimous self-pity. If none of them cared about each other, didn't even bother at all, this wouldn't--     The down-spiral pauses when Hibiki realizes where they ended up, thanks to the gnashing piano notes. Her head turns up, at the sickening sight of the Jester of Nihil dangling overhead. In the face of the danger some bloodflow, some feeling, returns to her limbs after so long moving in a daze, but not nearly enough. It's something else that gives just enough of a jolt. Any one of them. Act. Any of them. One of them. Pick one, and rotate through it, and burn it until you can't feel it anymore, and then find another.     ...Right. She can doubt herself ten times over, but there's no shaking off the feelings in her heart. Good and bad. Is there?     "Balwisyall nescell... Gungnir tron--!"     A flash of light in the monochrome chamber clads her in Symphogear - and she hasn't forgotten just yet what that represents. "...It's frustrating. All of this is so damn frustrating. All of this... and I hate it more than absolutely anything. Where I want to go and what I want to be feel like they're getting farther instead of closer...!"     Voice shaking, it feels like there's something that should come after that... but there's not.     What she does do, however, is drop low before springing off the ground at full speed, up towards the Jester - where the first thing she does is use her momentum to try and /punch/ several of the tendrils keeping Nihil suspended in half.
Lilian Rook	--pure, random meaninglessness.--     "--little more than the product of bouncing off the rapids and washing ashore--"     --slow degradation--     "--universe abhors being anything--"     --all so obviously miserable. It's all so obviously pointless. Why do they keep walking to their next class as if anything will change when they--     "--just the right time is sometimes how things are done. Staying quiet and laying groundwork feels awful, but--"     --feels wrong to say anything, like you'll be in trouble for breaking the silence--     §--you can't help but make those sounds, just by existing, but that's the whole problem, isn't it? You can't let them hear you prowling around amongst them. Exist quieter, or they'll notice--§     'No one's invited any more friends to fuck everything up?'     "--next year they'll be another one to do this all again--"     §--how far you've <fallen from Heaven>. You should have fought me by yourself, <traitor>. Before you <rust from disuse>--§     'Commander. Thank you for sending a rescue team. I decided to keep my hair long and--'     'Am I seeing the world fall apart?'     Lilian suddenly remembers to draw breath. The invasion of oxygen violating her bloodstream causes her to stop and double over coughing. Her eyes water. Her view of the floor between her feet swims entirely too long before she realizes there isn't a floor anyways.     Standing up, looking around, quick and nervous, Lilian tries not to show that she doesn't remember getting here, and halfway succeeds. Staggering towards the single most horridly dangerous thing here-- inexorably stumbling towards the vortex of misery and futility directly ahead-- practically in a trance the whole way, has her eyes wide and pulse elevated. Her hand presses to her chest as she starts trying to calm her breathing; then forcing it.     The physical body of the Jester is something she almost takes in as an afterthought. She feels as if she has already been immersed in it since hours ago. Days ago. A lifetme ago.     The way she meets its gaze is by way of numbly registering a fact. As if shellshocked, she begins counting off heads. Accounting for Elites, employees, their condition and status. On vacant autopilot, she flexes one hand, then the other, rotates each arm in sequence, taps her feet against the ground, then breathes deep and holds it. Lilian faintly documents her physical existence, all the way down the list.     She doesn't bother to say anything. She doesn't remember how to say anything. She doesn't care to learn to say anything. If she were perfect, she would not even comprehend how. Maybe more than ever before, there's no point anyways. Even when she cared, even when she did everything right, even when she bared her heart, it came to this anyways, so--     Her sword is raised as a matter of deterministic counterreaction; the tree bending back as the wind passes. A second later, with her stance robotically set, Lilian processes that she's been spoken to.     The thought that it's nice that Angela still cares about something that small intrudes into the haze. The fact that the Magical Girls are actually helping comes shortly after. Petra isn't so inured to this as to say and think nothing; that stokes a welcome little billious flame in Lilian's chest. Cinder saying something about the disintegration of the world catches on something in the back of her head. Realizing, finally, the Jester had said something to her, causes Lilian to voice it on the spot.
Lilian Rook	'Here we all meet, at the end of the path, together.'     She hadn't ever said it before. Not in these exact terms. But she remembers thinking it. That singular, miserably clear moment of merely weeks ago, surrounded by those giving up and giving in and snapping and howling at the void, is seared into her memory down to the individual words that had passed through her mind at the time. So without really thinking about it, what comes out of Lilian's mouth is,     "No matter how bad it is right now, no matter if it's the end of the world, tomorrow still comes in twenty four hours." It isn't clear whether the words are for her, for everyone else, or for the Jester. More likely, they're for no one at all; they're just what's on her mind. "You have to be ready, back on your feet, to do it all over again. Otherwise you die." Lilian squeezes her eyes shut, blinks them open, and verifies she hasn't forgotten to breathe again. "I might actually fucking murder you for making me do this, though, Netzach."     §Exigent Serenity§ leans on Lilian from behind, falling just a little bit in the process. The school clothes have already bleached and halfway crumbled, exposing the fine print of some kind of black tattoo between her shoulderblades.     §<<I've enjoyed myself enough. Of course I'll still be <here/omnipresent/universal principle> for <You/I/Us>. 'Lilian Rook' already knows how to see 'Exigent Serenity' <not-then/not-there> doesn't <she/we>?>>§     "I'm not scared of anythng like that. This is how we've done everything since we both decided to be born. Even the end wouldn't be the end."     §<<I can't wait to see how <I> will have <revised/changed> <next time/again>.>>§     'ARCANA SLAVE!!'     "Cleasanna Lilí Dubha ~ Scéalta sé Éigeandála Síocháin"     §She§ disappears. The paradox of §her§ visible nonexistence is correctly resolved at the dissolution of the dreamscape.     Lilian disappears too. The paradox of her <having cut/is cutting> is correctly resolved at the de-suspension of eigencausal normativity.     Both of §them§ simultaneously appear to exist in an uncountable number of places at once. The collapse of light and dark that should cleanly follow a singular line scatters chaotically into immunerable diverging arcs, painting radioactive heat across every single slash in the fractal.     Lilian alone hits the ground again on the other side, trailing glittering smoke from her skin into the void. The flash of her sword through empty air to cleanse it of burning viscera is habitual; she's already circling around to find another approach, leaving glowing footprints briefly seared into the blackness as she sprints.     "It's a Meltdown. It's still a Meltdown. Fix it the only way you people are good for."
Touta Konoe	Another part of the night(mare) had concluded as everyone assembled. It seemed that everyone had been able to complete their task whether it was finding Angela, retrieving the magical girls, or stopping the orchestra from playing.     The Silent Orchestra?! Still?     As the sound of Petra's voice raises at the silence that fills the air. Tension finds itself in Touta's voice. "No, that's not...! We..."     He looks back to Rufus and Madeleine both as if they might have something to say. The idea of another mistake tonight is just...It's not something he cares to imagine. Another try and another failure. One that'd be the biggest one of the night. Though there's definitely static, it hits, it's uncomfortable to the ear. Yet...It's different. Having experienced it first hand, he's almost one-hundred percent confident on it. There's just genuine relief that as Petra gets up she clears the thought.     He turns back to Rufus who at this point is returning to that suave exterior. In the same while Touta's gaze was still a bit lifeless, but still enough to force a small smile at the sight. "I was gonna say, I know we didn't come back without finishing what we started..." It's still a forced smile all the same, but it does shift slightly as Angela returns although...     The sight of her attempting to speak with the face mask on does bring a pleasant surprise of tension cutting. It's there where he finds himself wanting to speak up. To welcome her back, to maybe say he thinks the hammer looks good. Though as she puts it bluntly, 'this is a bad time.     The Jester is unusual in that they primarily attack the spirit but that does not mean falling to him could not be fatal. Keep your spirits up for a little while longer if you can.     Her words make it even more apparent that this would be no cakewalk. While Touta's not even had a scratch on him, he's tired. Emotionally, spiritually, and it has reached the point that it starts to wear on his expression. But regardless...He'll be fine. He always ends up fine. So he stays silent...     It takes time to finally have the luck needed to reach that unfamiliar hallway, the entire time he stays in silence, but during it he can hear the advice of the Captain.     And for God's sakes, no matter what you do, don't reject the arguments. Examine them, *listen* to them, and *fight* them, but don't *reject* them. 'That isn't true, that isn't who I am' is a death knell in a place like this.
Touta Konoe	There's only a small inhale given to the words. A thought comes to mind pertaining to the words, but ultimately he'll be joining this fight whether taking that advice in the truest stride or not.     The appearance of the piano, and the Jester that lingers up above, hanging from the ceiling. It's appearance that leaves nothing to laugh at despite the namesake.     Here we all meet, at the end of the path, together.     It's voice trails and with it, he finds himself gripping his blade. The sounds of the magical girls starting their assault catches his attention first but more than that is Angela, and Tiphereth who lingers behind. Angela holds off from her own attack before the magical girls but for Tiphereth, it seemed like...Well, what was she going to do?     "Tiphereth..."     Sullen eyes don't make direct contact with her, but like the time in the auditorium she can see that there's fog building around the exit. An indicator that, should things get dicey...She has the opportunity to leave if she feels it. Something he could have done better earlier when doing the same for another when trying to keep them from the fight. Making it a choice...Her choice. Just as it should be, and should have been.     What should be done...     "Angela." Touta finally speaks up to her, his gaze incapable of meeting her own but he speaks up all the same. "Let me tr--If you get an opening, you'll capitalize it on..."     The tone of the words shift. No longer sounding out an attempt on his part. But, a belief...That she's capable enough, that she's strong enough that if he can give her the most minute moment of an opening that she'll be able to take it in stride. So to that end...He'll slowly start to fade.     - - - - - - - -     Ceiling above the Chandelier     Within the shadows of the ceiling a different sort of darkness had been amalgamating. It was as though the ceiling had been filled with the darkest smoke from which just as the Jester lingered in the shadows, a new form had brought itself out from a different depth.     The visage of a young man springs from the smoke as if hopping out of a cloud given the heights he finds himself. Both hands cling to the grip of his sword with an over-clingy grip. His blade attempts to cleave through the branch like tentacles as air escapes his body through his shout.     "Two-Thousand Fold!"     The air around the blade shifts, as Touta's jump reaches the end of its arc. His body becomes heavy as his jet-black katana bulks up in weight which could be felt as it dug into to tear into the tendrils. Using that excess force on those branch-like tendrils not just to see if they might sever, but even if they didn't...Forcing the Jester to get dragged down from the ceiling as he'd keep building the weight of his blade.
Petra Soroka	"I don't despise Petra. I feel bad for her some. Hate her some. But... she would kill everyone just to save Angela."     Petra only processes that her name was said long seconds later, as it disintegrates into the smothering static. When she does, she whips her head up to stare at Aidan, the abrupt motion sending smoke rippling away from her. "What the fuck? Don't feel bad for me. You're worse than me. The only think you have right is that I'd do anything for Angela. And Lilian."     ALL RETURNS TO NIHIL     The Jester languidly rolls over in the air, twisting the tendrils of Netzach's subsumed Meltdown around itself, gradually lowering closer to the ground. Its body is still totally limp, puppeted by the thigh-width tendrils from its chest, and its head rolls around its neck to sink down, seemingly coincidetally landing its hollow eyes on Hook and Dysnomia. Twisted into a lifeless mockery of 'upright' in the air, the slick-grey trunk from its chest coils behind the Jester's neck like a noose.     "Story. What story do they have to tell, that you don't already know the end of? This is the end of the path. The end of every path, whatever twists and turns you wander along, whatever hopes you hold, whatever future you fight for. It all, inevitably, ends here."     "You feel it already, don't you? After just one night. I've been feeling it for so long. Why should they save anyone when they'll just die tomorrow? This place is Hell. There's no escape, no future, nothing beyond this."     The Jester's plastered-on grin doesn't move when it talks, and its voice doesn't even stumble when another thick branch of Netzach's Melting-down form smashes outwards through its painted lips, bifuricating up into the ceiling. Accompanying it is a fresh deluge of green splatter, raining down onto the piano and crashing discordant, a dozen random notes at once. It sounds like being slapped. "The shape of the story...demands your downfall."     "Downfall is the shape of every story. It isn't their kingdom that fell to ruin; not by their actions. All of them-- Courage, Love, Happiness, Justice-- fell to their own rotten natures. People can't help themselves. How can they help anyone else?"     When listing out their names, each of the four monstrous forms of the Magical Girls lowers out of the shadowy ceiling, bleached white and petrified as statues. The Queen of Hatred, the winged serpent with hearts running down its back, drifts down in front of Love, putting herself between her and the Jester. The other statues arrange themselves likewise, forming a shield against the Elites, through which the Jester continues to ramble. "You're confusing a battle for a war, and even if I lose one, I don't have any choice but to win the other."     At first, the Elites' attacks splash against the statues helplessly, or disperse into the oppressive smoke. The swarm of field mice buzz through the air to cluster around the Jester, but as they start gnawing at cloth and hoping for something underneath, they're all drawn towards a different treat instead, bleeding out of the tendrils. As if under a mental compulsion, the rats get a taste of the green Enkephalin, then start fighting each other for more, and the ones that manage to drink up the most drop down from the Jester like flies, hitting the piano with sick crunching noises magnified a thousand times. Fur comes off in clots, they go catatonic, shivering, bug-eyed, but none of them die.
Petra Soroka	"The war is lost. You always lose in the end. How do you think you can win every battle, forever, day after day after day, when losing a single one is permanent?" "I couldn't take it when I thought about how endless it all is. It's so unfair for you all to come in here like you're not just delaying the inevitable"     Every attack is dulled or deflected-- until the Arcana Slave and Lilian's technique flash in sequence, and the statues of the Queen of Hatred and the Knight of Despair explode into rubble, their combined light illuminating the room brighter than anything else has been in Nihil's domain. Cutting through the Jester exposes more tendrils, shooting out of the tears in its clothes (it's impossible to tell whether there's anything underneath) to slam into the walls and floors, shortly before being severed by the other Elites' combined efforts.     It's miserable that the Jester hardly seems to notice, even visibly torn up from the attack, with half of its statues instantly destroyed. All that shifts in its voice is a slightly more intense fever-pitch, and its head rolls over to stare at Angela herself, its body hanging diagonal from gap in the tendrils supporting it made by Hibiki.     "What do you expect to change about all of this, from fighting this hard? How many people have died already for this company? And for what? The 'Seed of Light'?! Do you understand it, what future you're working towards?"     "Death. All of it. Every step of progress, every bit of hope, feeds back into death. I see them every day, I do my job to keep them alive, and they all die anyways. The facility resets, and we all die over again. You all show up, and it's the best it's ever been, and practically no one needs to die, and in the end, what do we accomplish? What happens when the Tree of Light finally shines above the City?"     The statue of the Servant of Wrath's eyes darken, black on pale stone. Cracks form across its surface, running down its arms that end in those familiar hammers, up its neck and across its torso. Shadows coalesce around the Jester, condensing into a series of the Servant's hammers, turned monochrome by Nihil. The acid dripping off of them is incandescent white, dripping onto the floor and bubbling silently.     "Death. More death. Across the entire City, killing each other in the streets. Why chase the future at all? Nothing ever gets better. Nothing ever changes. Every path leads to Nihil."     Every hammer swings together in a circle, flattened sideways to sweep across the whole room. Acid flies off with the motion, splattering across anyone who isn't hit directly, and rather than burning, it makes you feel lethargic, sluggish like all the students you saw around the facility. The weight of Walpurgisnacht is dragging, even this close to the finish line, and it's hard to even believe it's a finish line when you *know* it only gets worse from here.
Ishirou	Nihil speaks, trying to wither both their spirits and their minds, but he listens to Hook.  Don't deny, don't refute... internalize the points, and fight back with your words.  He listens, there was a lot to take in, a lot that he was saying, but Ishirou listens for what he can, for the words that he feel come to his heart.   'What do you expect to change about all of this, from fighting this hard? How many people have died already for this company? And for what? The 'Seed of Light'?! Do you understand it, what future you're working towards?' "I hope to change the fate of a friend.  It doesn't matter how hard it is, how impossible it seems... if there is something I can do... then I want to extend my hand to them.  That's how you overcome the impossible to overcome.  It's not the Seed of Light I've come here for, but the people trapped in this place... in this hell." The acid splashes, and he attempts to get out of the way, flipping backward and landing in a three-point stance.  Unfortunately, it's not enough to escape the blast of acid, as he feels his will to fight decrease, his lethargy increases, and his body feels uncomfortably numb.  He tries his best to shake off the poison, including trying to push the acid off with a burst of electromagnetic force.   He can still feel it in his systems, draining his spirit, but he pushes forward.  "It isn't always the big goals that you fight towards, Jester... but the ones closest to your heart.  You let others in, and together you are stronger for it.  You learn from them, from their mistakes and their triumphs!  You are there for them when everything seems lost, or when times are good..." "That's how I fight against it, the hopelessness that you bring... the hopelessness that can infect any heart sometimes when it's weak..." he says before POD loads an explosive ordinance.  It fires, while Ishirou attempts to speed it up using a slingshot manuever using electromagnetic power to make it travel /far/ faster than it has any right to be.
Rufus Shinra	<J-IC-Scene> Captain Hook says, "That's what he's going to do. He's going to speak the truth, and it will probably *be* truth, in its own ways." <J-IC-Scene> Rufus Shinra says, "Maybe he shouldn't." <J-IC-Scene> Captain Hook, sharply, says, "Listen to me, lad!" <J-IC-Scene> Captain Hook says, "Don't reject it! Examine it, fight it, learn from it, but don't discard it!" <J-IC-Scene> Captain Hook says, "Don't throw it aside as if it belongs to someone else!" Rufus gives Captain William Hook a glance. "What's it got to say that'll apply to me?" > Story. What story do they have to tell, that you don't already know the end of? > You feel it already, don't you? After just one night. > There's no escape, no future, nothing beyond this. > People can't help themselves. How can they help anyone else? > How do you think you can win every battle, forever, day after day after day, when losing a single one is permanent? > Every step of progress, every bit of hope, feeds back into death. "..." "Mister... Captain, Hook." Amidst it all, Rufus finds time to look towards him again. "Is that... really the truth?" The mask has dropped. "That's what we shouldn't reject? What we shouldn't discard?" "Because it sounds to me..." "... Like we can't do anything *but* reject it. If we want to keep going." Rufus is throwing badly aimed fireballs at the jester, almost as an afterthought. He's too consumed by everything else right now.
Madeleine Cadrasteia	'I couldn't take it when I thought about how endless it all is. It's so unfair for you all to come in here like you're not just delaying the inevitable'     "What do you mean, 'like we're not just delaying the inevitable'? We ARE just delaying the inevitable. It is only ever a delay. And one of us dies, and another of us rises, and we delay it *again*. The Knight-Commander is right. You get back on your feet and do it all over again. A tree falls in the forest, the forest stands. The forest grows a new tree. Did you think you could do the work once and rest eternal? That nobody else could possibly do it but you?" As Madeleine speaks, she raises a hand and some of the flying acid freezes in the air, bouncing off her to shatter and fizz on the floor. She leaps over the swinging hammers and her bow twists back into a spear, just in time for her to drive it into the Jester's flesh.
Angela	Malkuth had said, "Haha, well...Good luck surviving!" to Aidan because she rally doesn't want to continue having this conversation but also doesn't really want Aidan to die (that much) so she thinks that's a good compromise. She doesn't want to get in a big conversation about Petra either at the final hour of this adventure. Angela is told 'I promise' by Hook. She looks at him for a long moment and... ...Completely misinterprets what he means. "They would like to see you." She says, as if in agreement and gives him a smile and a nod. She seems to be taking some solace in this! ''I'd be fine if it turns out we're just getting started.'' Angela opens her mouth to say what her usual rejoinder would be to that, that they ARE just getting started. That they aren't even at the halfway point--but it occurs to her that if they get through this, they ARE past the halfway point and... Well, having never generated a Seed of Light past 40 percent before, she isn't sure how that will affect the other Meltdown timings--if at all. They could happen quickly, or happen shortly. So instead she gives a small nod to Rufus. Whether or not this means she has seen the footage of him lending a hand during her rescue earlier is something she will never comment on. "Haha!" The King shouts. "Flying mice! How novel!" The grin falters a little bit once she sees what happens to the mice, though. ''I've been feeling it for so long.'' "Not compared to me, you haven't." She says. "I am no longer ensorcelled by the dream. Your path will not destroy this facility, it will only mke our suffering last longer." Nihil speaks as to how the Magical Girls fell. Happiness and Courage shudder and drop down into a crouch as if they were actually struck by the Jester before them. They try to listen, and they try not to listen after but they can't push the thought out of their head. "My Sisters, the Night is almost at an end!" Justice shouts, stepping forward. "See? Love has freed us from our endless cycle! You can yet be saved...!" "And then tommorow? Will that be different?" Happiness mumbles. "Endless wrath can protect me from feeling that pain again..." Courage mumbles. "Does it...even matter?" Love asks. "Even if we get through this, there is tommorow..." She looks to Meika, worried for her. She looks to Angela, hoping for guidance from the child whom she was meant to comfort. "...Tommorow... It is true that our work here is unlikely to change much. You joined this project knowing change might not happen in your lifetime." But Angela doesn't care about the Seed of Light in the way te other Sephirah do--or once did, even. ''What happens when the Tree of Light finally shines above the City? Death. More death. Across the entire City, killing each other in the streets. Why chase the future at all? Nothing ever gets better. Nothing ever changes. Every path leads to NIhil.'' Color drains from Angela as a sudden malaise runs over her. ''I regret helping Angela. ... The correct answer is X'' "...I do not understand. You mean as in... True or False?" She hears Touta's words distantly. She hears Tiphereth shouting at her to wake up. She feels Kukuru's reassurance. She is comforted by the Dame Commander's presence. It's not out of blind loyalty that she trusts the Dame Commander She has seen what she can do. And she wants to believe in her. But. She knows her goal. What does she expect to change?
Angela	"...I'm fine with that." She says, leaning against Regret as she stands up again. "That is the difference...between you and I, Netzach. I will destroy the City if that is what it takes to..." How does Lilian put it? Or Exigent? Both? "If that is what it takes to be born." And she runs forward, swinging her hammer baove her head and slams it down towards the King of Greed's statue. "I don't care how many Regrets I have to pile on, I'm not going to give up before I've lived, even if the Outside is full of suffering--there is more than that out there and you should know better, you've seen it." Courage is bolstered by this, standing up as she looks to Hibiki. "Do not give up, Bikki! You still yet hold the courage to be a better person...!" And with that Courage rushes the Statue of Wrath, trying to slam her hammers into it.
UFO Gang	Her mice surge forwards, taste that good green juice, and then collapse, bloated, shivering, but alive. "Huh," says Nazrin. The mice that didn't make their way close enough to dig into the slime veer away, scattering against the walls and just generally getting out of the way. She looks at her fellow rodents. You can all but see that surge of confidence beginning to evaporate. "Welp," Nazrin tells Minamitsu. "I think we're kind of --" She ducks the incoming hammer, but she too is splattered with that demoralizing acid. LIVE MINAMITSU CAM: 'o' Minamitsu does NOT dodge the hammer and is clobbered onto the ground with a splash (somehow). Her shoulders stay sagged even as she -- floats upwards, the anchor she carries on her back falling to the ground with a clank. She looks up at the Jester with her lips pooched together and her arms come up to fold over herself. It isn't a confident look. "... I heard them," Minamitsu says. "I heard all of the people who work at this weird place keep saying... something I didn't really get." "They all said they'd 'never made it this far.' It was like a battle cry. It sounded like they'd tried a bunch of times. I guess that's what you're talking about, with the blooming of a 'Tree of Light.' But all of them held hope in their heart from it." Minamitsu looks upwards. "When I died," she tells the Jester, "I felt despair. I hurt and I raged and I was just, in a really bad place. It was like ten thousand different horrible things all at once. I guess I had the bad luck to stick around... but all I did was hurt people more. I thought that it would spread that pain. But..." "Someone came for me," Minamitsu continues, raising one hand in a loosely clenched fist. "And that's why I'm here right now! I don't know exactly what you mean by 'Nihil', and I can't say anything you've lived is false -- but by gosh it seems like you're just giving up in advance to me--!"
Aidan Proudpick	Aidan lands in a three point stance, turning his head briefly over to Kukuru, wisps of wind escaping out of his mouth. "Malkuth, The King, told me I despised Petra. And I won't lie. Despise is just not... right." As rats sweep the field, Aidan dodgerolls to one side with a surprised 'oh shit,' scrambling to get back up to his feet. "What the fuck? Don't feel bad for me. You're worse than me. The only think you have right is that I'd do anything for Angela. And Lilian." "You're right," Aidan shoots back at her. "I don't really know a thing about you. What you go through. Who you are." Pick one, and rotate through it, and burn it until you can't feel it anymore, and then find another. Don't ignore them, not even sadness. Not even sorrow. Not even pain. Don't ignore any of them. "Thank you, Captain. For a thief and a pirate, you're a good man." "You are right." He presses back at Petra, "I'm selfish. Thinking I know everything about people from meeting them once. I want to saunter in and fix them. I want to come in at the last moment and tell people I care about them. I never learned what was in Rita and Angela's heart, what they wanted." What did Rita long for? What were her dreams? Did he know more than one of Angela's dreams. He puts that feeling up to the flames. 'I'm going to be a good friend, not a fake hero.' The path of the hammer. His brain, wired for leaps and pathing, already starts throwing into Aidan's body where it is going to go. His feet go next, painfully pushing him back away from the path of the hammer. Everything feels like he's trying to force his way through syrup. He's so damn tired. Wind buffets the hammer, slowing it, weakening the blow. But not preventing the effects. "Why chase the future at all? Nothing ever gets better. Nothing ever changes. Every path leads to Nihil." The squirrel immediately drops to the floor, face cracking against the tile. He braces his hands underneath him. Get up. Get up get up get up. "If I can make one person smile in my entire life. It's worth it. They'll die, I'll die. But I'll be happy. And they'll be happy. I want to. I have to." Philosophy, perhaps, isn't his strong suit. "Maybe someone will get better. Maybe they won't. Maybe they'll push us away. But that's it. That's all it takes for everything to be worth it." No wind. He can't even muster up the energy to throw a punch. "Every story ends. Everybody dies. Everybody goes, sometime. You can't say, 'no, that can't be.' The ending's where the story *stops*. It has to stop there. And then someone else gets to write their page." Stories. A sense of self-grandeur? He grasps it, holds it out the flame. He wanted the story. He wanted Kale's story. He thought he could just be it. But better, warmer, happier. He did think the universe would hand it to him if he wanted it bad enough. Red coals bite into his fingers, burning them. But can he still write his story? A story all his own. About a Knight. Who opens his heart to people. Bullets flash out of the gun, numb hands barely able to aim for anything important to slow the Jester down.
Kukuru	"The only thing you have right is that I'd do anything for Angela." Kukuru hasn't had much reason to smile since finding Angela and wandering through the messed up school, but this is the closest thing to getting it to happen again. Seeing the Jester actually moving, though, keeps that from actually happening, as those uncanny movements even manage to hit her brain in just the wrong way. It reminds her more of a corpse on strings than of something relaxed and uncaring, of something that's ready to die rather than struggling to live. "You feel it already, don't you? After just one night. I've been feeling it for so long. Why should they save anyone when they'll just die tomorrow? This place is Hell. There's no escape, no future, nothing beyond this." It reminds her too much of the corpses she's found, but too far gone to save, and the air feels worse for her to breathe after realizing that. Even though death is something she's been able to cheat for so long for so many, there's still a limit to what she can do when it comes to things like age, freak accidents obliterating bodies, sicknesses that can't be solved by just forcibly removing everything bad and reviving the person later. "How do you think you can win every battle, forever, day after day after day, when losing a single one is permanent?" Even if she can save them time and time again, everyone here's going to die someday to one of those things, aren't they? Kukuru knows she can't always be there for them, so what's the point? Kukuru doesn't even notice what the attacks are actually doing to the Jester, even when the statues of the Queen of Hatred and the Knight of Despair explode and blast the room with light. She's getting too wrapped up in her own thoughts, and it's a pain just to move. It doesn't hurt in the regular physical sense, but it just feels like it'd be easier to take a nap here and stop. Even if we win here, even if I bring them the nicest meals and the comfiest clothes, they're still going to be at each other's throats by tomorrow. I'm so tired of it. The hammers start swinging about, and with them comes the acid. Down as she might feel, Kukuru's survival instincts finally kick back in when the hammers smack her square in the face, launching her into a crumpled heap at the other end of the room. She twitches painfully as the pain overtakes her ability to scream, focusing her nanites on herself just so she can stay conscious enough to even think at all.
Kukuru	". . . in the end, what do we accomplish? What happens when the Tree of Light finally shines above the City?" That is the difference...between you and I, Netzach. I will destroy the City if that is what it takes to... If that is what it takes to be born. That's why she's fought so hard this time, isn't it? As far as she knows, Angela's never been able to truly experience the city. The world. She's seen plenty through the screen, but going outside, tasting real food... "... I want to see her story continue tomorrow. And the day after. The week after. Months. Years. I want to see it all, even if the world ends right after that!" Kukuru staggers back to her feet after what feels like forever, clutching the side of her head to stop the bleeding with both pressure and her regeneration. "Even if me and family are all gonna die one day... Food doesn't stop tasting good after you eat it. The memory stays. The happiness stays. We can't stop what we're doing now just because we know we have to eat again tomorrow, the day after, every day for the rest of our lives." Lurching forward slowly, she starts picking up rubble, pieces of exploded statues, anything she can get her hands on, and launches at the Jester before falling through a teleportation cloud. She reappears besides the King of Greed statue seconds later, gloves hands shoving upwards to try and ram it directly into Angela's oncoming hammer. "Every day, we get to experience new things like that! I want Angie to be able to experience that, too. I want her to see everything that's great! I want her to find new friends and family of her own, and I want to see her kids' stories start even after mine ends!"
Solty Revant	Those mice...the sounds they make as they fall, magnified like that...Solty winces at how viceral it is. She's hasn't heard sounds like this since...      ...since when she stuck her arm through a man.      The sound makes her cover her ears, but as she does she sees the blood on her hand from taking Carmen's hand up on the roof of the library. She stares at it. Death. She caused a death. He was a bad man, and he hurt children, but...was it right to end him like that? Angela seemed to think it was fine, but warned Solty that Solty might not think it was fine later.      Solty still isn't sure how she actually feels about it. On the one hand she thinks stopping someone who is bad is fine, but...      "...killing someone means an end to their story. All stories have to end sometime, even though it is sad to think about." Solty says, then closes that hand she's been staring at. She looks up at Nihil. "But I think...it might be wrong to end someone's story yourself unless it is the only option left! Your story doesn't have to end here! If you help us with the Seed, we can all go to the surface together!"      Those hammers spin up, and Solty moves to punch one. It sends her flying back, but might send that hammer flying into the Servant statue. She lands a short distance away...right by her pom poms. Solty blinks in surprise, then picks them up. She's in a cheerleader's outfit, and they need spirits uplifted! "I don't know much about the Seed of Light, but I trust Miss Angela! If she says things will be better if it finishes charging, then I believe her! It is easy to believe, seeing this place and how miserable and dangerous it is!"      And, hoping to keep spirits high, Solty uses one thing she has in abundance. Spirit! She cheers on the others! Though she has a determined expression more than a cheerful one, she waves her pom poms around and shakes them energetically. "You can't stop us now! We'll make sure the story has a happy ending, no matter how long it takes!" She does a few cartwheels and somersaults and high jumps. And with her, those are very high jumps. "Do your best! Then things will get better! You just have to believe!"      Touta and Hook and Kukuru and everyone are doing their best and covering all the other things that Solty was thinking, so she hopes her cheering will bring some relief to them!
Lilian Rook	Lilian probably wouldn't even pay attention if not for Petra's words. They're some of the few she can even hear. Her reply isn't even motivated by spite, to push her through the reluctance, the burning pain in her way, that she'd felt before. They're automatic. Disinhibited. The walls have come down and her consciousness has shrunk to a single point; small, simplistic, streamlined, laser-focused, without nuance, and impossible to strike directly.     'I don't despise Petra. I feel bad for her some.'     "Who fucking asked. Nobody cares if a worm feels sorry for a bird. Kill yourself and stop clutting the operation." It's so thoughtlessly smooth, almost without emotion behind it, that saying the worst she believes is like spinal reflex.     'Stop this right now! Everyone here could be safe if you just let us go!'     "Die. If you beg for permission then you should just stop existing. Nobody will ever respect 'please' without power." A complete conservation of energy. Bleeding no hopes into the void. Throwing no passion at the wall ahead of her. Express nothing genuine, show nothing vulnerable, and there is no surface to grip.     'The shape of the story...demands your downfall.'     "The story is that it always wins. The girls are derived from a tale where it's predestined that they lose. Wishful thinking won't get you anything. Sit there and wither to death." Nothing positive means nothing to be shattered. Nothing trusting means nothing to be betrayed. No sign of her heart means nothing to shoot through.     'The Knight-Commander is right. You get back on your feet and do it all over again.'     "Hey. Bitch. Why are you the only one who calls me 'Knight-Commander'? Do you think I don't notice? Do you think you're safe." Pointless petty vitriol is so very easy. It expends no fuel. Approaches no target. It simulates just enough to keep nerves crackling with electric thoughts, and helps no one else. Putting others down to step up over them. Radiating thorned harm in every direction to drive people back, without openings.     'Isn't that right, Queen of Moments? Stories end because tomorrow has to come, one way or another, and all we do is build for a better one for those who come when we're dust and don't have to care.'     "Yeah. Except I have to care forever. I can't be dust. I can just put things behind me. If this human trash would lay down their bones to pave the road, that'd be the noblest, most correct thing they could do. It's just that they think they're invincible, when even now, I could kill them now." There's a word for that. The empty, feverish stare Lilian has, burning with a spark of sick, inextinguishable fire, despite, or even fuelled by, the cruel hollowness of every word.     'It isn't always the big goals that you fight towards, Jester... but the ones closest to your heart.'     "That must be nice. Being able to feed off people stronger than you. I wonder what it's like. I'd never be able to know." The term for it is a survival mechanism.     The hammers, the acid; those are things Lilian can avoid. By abandoning care, and trusting her raw, animal survival nerves-- believing her training and experience won't fail her now-- Lilian can overtax herself a little more, and a little more, and a little more; ignoring her limits in ways that will be torture later to dance though the overwhelming offensive that would spike her pulse and flatten her courage otherwise.     'This is the end of the path. The end of every path, whatever twists and turns you wander along, whatever hopes you hold, whatever future you fight for. It all, inevitably, ends here.'
Lilian Rook	"God. Please. End them. Everyone but the ones I can hold in my hands. I'm so, so tired of them. That they get to breathe the same air as me makes me feel sick."     'Why should they save anyone when they'll just die tomorrow?'     "Because I can't not. I don't really care how long they live after."     'There's no escape, no future, nothing beyond this.'     "There's tomorrow after this. Another self-absorbed apathetic will try to snuff me out again, then."     'fell to their own rotten natures. People can't help themselves. How can they help anyone else?'     "That's the answer, right? Some pointless fucking never-ending tedious worthless things are just things you have to do to stave off that rotten nature one more day."     'You're confusing a battle for a war, and even if I lose one, I don't have any choice but to win the other.'     Lilian laughs. It's sick and giddy and filled with bubbling vertigo and chaotically unstable tone where she doesn't know where to land between humour and bleak sarcasm.     "Hey. Me too."     Lilian flashes between the statues. It is well past safe for her to do so. Each one sears its imprint on where she <is/was> retroactively, where 'the way things should be' catches her in its claws and she rebukes it with all her will. §She§ appears in infinitesimal blinks between blinks, cutting when Lilian hasn't and still when Lilian strikes back. Each time, a little more humanity bleeds into that fuzzy nothingness; corroding her with warm flesh where Lilian is corroded with its inverse.     'How do you think you can win every battle, forever, day after day after day, when losing a single one is permanent?'     "You heard me say it to Tiphereth, right Netzach? It doesn't fucking matter if it's permanent. All you have to do is outgrow it. All you have to do is outrun it. For every mistake, you make nine more blessings, and the filth is never more than one tenth of you. Outrun it. You get one chance per one second, just like everyone else."     'The 'Seed of Light'?! Do you understand it, what future you're working towards?'     "I do."     'What happens when the Tree of Light finally shines above the City?'     "I know."     'Death. More death. Across the entire City, killing each other in the streets.'     "That's one possibility." says Lilian. Her breath steams on nothing. It glows with redshifted embers-- stars, from far away. "And if that's what happens, they deserve it. I don't really care."     Ribbons of lurid red sever another forest of tendrils. There's no end to it. Lilian doesn't think about it. There's no room to anyways. If she measures the obstacle in her way, it might hurt her heart. "There's another possibility too. And I think I personally have to see it. Aren't you curious? Don't you want to know what really happens, when each and every person can decide a future? Don't you want to see how vile they are? Don't you want to see the Extras finally die off? Don't you want to see what becomes of the few people worth it?"     "Hey. Netzach. Aren't you kind of doing the same thing as Tiphereth? Aren't you clinging to things that are gone, without getting any stronger? Strong enough to keep the next things entrusted to you; so you don't lose them too. Of course nothing changes. You don't. You despicable fucking self-pitying loser."
Lilian Rook	Lilian draws Winter Crow, fires eight consecutive shots out of her remaining ammunition into the next wave of hammers, and is already surrendered to the autonomic urge to look over her shoulder, smile dimly, and arbitrarily announce. "I really love you, Tamamo. That's why I'm this strong. The moment you came into my life, I needed more. I don't need enough to fix everyone; just to never let go of you."     "Don't you agree? If you want to keep what you love more than anything, you should make yourself someone who can hold onto it as soon as you can. You never get back the seconds you waste."
Timespace Riders	@emit      Neither Woz nor Zi-O seem disheartened, by the way the retainer's attacks, and everyone else's, save Love's and Lilian's, are shrugged aside. Neither is disheartened, because both realize what it is they're fighting. Both of them, in their own way, have known the fear of the Jester before they could give a name to it. If overpowering it were as easy as shouting it down (literally or with Rider powers) then neither of them would be the people they are in the present.      They are affected, notably, by the rats and their thirst for Enkephalin--not because the sight is unseemly, or because the noise is deafening. Certainly, the sound of it hurts physically, as well, enough to cause visible sparks to fly from their armors. But more than the grisly, amplified noise, the Riders are hurt because both of them know too well the cruel and unflattering caricature being made by such an attack. It hurts, to see the worst parts of the people you're trying to help, and to hear them magnified so loud that you can't ignore them. But...      As the rubble from the statues of the Queen and the Knight explode into rubble, Zi-O takes a steadying breath, and twirls his pistol; it isn't done in the way that Hook does it, though he tries to. But in the clumsiness of the gesture, there is sincere admiration. "I'm glad you like it," the Demon King answers Captain Hook.      "Part of me wants to shout at you, Jester. To let what's inside of me, what I'm afraid of, spill out," Zi-O answers, lifting his laser-flintlock and blasting, despite the Jester's apparent apathy. "To 'silence' you. But doing that would be ignoring the one that I'm wearing, wouldn't it? You're the Jester, and I want to be King--and if I threw that back in your face, without listening, it wouldn't be confronting how I feel about what you're saying. It would just be denying it; pushing it away but giving it strength at the same time. It'd be the one joke that the kingdom remembers--the one that got the King to silence you, made more true, because I did." Hey. Me too.      Zi-O's helmet dips, in recognition. But there's a reason that we do it. "I'll give you your answer, then," says Zi-O, lifting his right hand into the air, up and forward. The wrist-mounted hook fires, embedding itself into the ceiling long enough to yank him upwards, carrying him in a daring swing across the impromptu battlefield and through the remaining statues. His saber cuts several golden crescents on his way through, and at the apex of his swing, the hook pries free, allowing him to make a frontflip to land on his feet at the other side, beside the piano.      "Battles can have permanent results," says Zi-O. "That's true. Or results that stretch so far, that they might as well be. I miss M.O.M. so much," he says, his voice wavering again. "I miss his silly little laugh, I miss the way his face would light up when he got to try Woz's cooking. And I don't think I'll ever forget the way that Sal looked at me... after. It hurt me a lot, to see him here, this way. Going through the motions and just trying to tune it out. Because even if that's what he was doing, when I first met him, behind 'ha ha,' and that smile, that's not who he was when we lost him."      "I don't think I can win every battle. But it's like Lilian says. Tomorrow comes in twenty four hours. If I lose here, I still have to face whatever happens tomorrow, and so do you. I still have to hope that there can be something better than this," he says, gesturing to the monochrome misery as the hook whips around on its glowing golden cable and snaps back into place. "Even if hoping, and fighting, is harder. Even if it's scary, because of what you might lose for trying. For *wanting.*"
Timespace Riders	What happens when the Tree of Light finally shines above the City? Death. More death. Across the entire City, killing each other in the streets. Why chase the future at all? Nothing ever gets better. Nothing ever changes. Every path leads to Nihil. ...I do not understand. You mean as in... True or False?     "Indeed, esteemed Angela," says Woz, his tone conveying a weary smile as his helmet bobs once in agreement. "I am grateful that serving my Demon King has allowed me to know you."     "O or X?" asks Woz of the Jester again. "Desire is pointless, and only leads to pain. Oblivion is the only balm for the slings and stones of a world which thoughtlessly opposes even the idea of you." The same timer-running-down noise from before. "The correct answer is X." The blue pauldron swings open again, revealing the cold blue X. Near the Jester, a loud incorrect-buzzer sounds, lightning striking from another suddenly-conjured stormcloud. How could it not be false? Sougo and Woz, reaching for the versions of themselves that can be happy, daring to carve their stories into the world and write new ones, have struck harder against the grey clutches of hopelessness than either thought imaginable, on their own. Isn't it worth trying, asks that attack of his? Isn't even 25, 15, or 10 percent of what you want, worth snatching from the hands the world, rather than wallowing with none?     "O or X," the retainer poses again, gesturing towards the Jester with a theatrical sweep of his hand, punctuated with a pointing thrust of his index. He turns, then, to Meika. "The story is not just its ending." The red pauldron swings open, and a satisfying red O--'true'-- is revealed on the inside. Over the Jester, an even louder 'incorrect' buzzer sounds. Bright white tendrils snake from the stormcloud like a frenzied eel, white-hot passion abstracted as natural weather sloughing off whatever it touches, as the smell of ozone briefly lingers. Even if the story 'ends' here, only an illiterate fool would think it an omen of inevitable doom. If that were true, it could be told in one sentence.
Tamamo	'How do you think you can win every battle, forever, day after day after day, when losing a single one is permanent?'     "Is it not the other way about? I would lose every battle but the last, and end the war with my victory. Can you not see that you do the same? Mere survival is not enough to declare 'I have won.' These wounds that accumulate -- are they not the proof? That exhaustion you feel, without hope -- that shows that you have been losing, and losing, and losing, for a long, long time."     The blows and acid wash over Tamamo -- or, no, that's not what's happening. She's making it appear as if she's unaffected, even while arcane wards spark and sputter and talismans flicker and flare and disappear forever. She's a fox, in truth, hiding herself behind the mask of her face.     'What happens when the Tree of Light finally shines above the City?'     "I wonder this, myself. Have you seen what should occur, or do you only guess? Have your endless repetition ever witnessed the very beginning of what might transpire? For what purpose is this done, but to find that there is 'some other answer'? A reckless plan of desperation, and yet..."     'I, ah... maybe underestimated the vigor of which Binah would punish us and...'     "Your City is one that requires such action, is it not? I will not say something so irresponsible as, 'one must always hope.' Hope must be placed within something, whether that be in that others will share one's courage to fight for justice, or in a love shared, or even that someone, somewhere, someday, will find the happiness that slipped from your grasp. If you cannot hope for today, then you must hope for tomorrow."     'Why chase the future at all?'     "The future comes, no matter how many wish for it to stay away. The turn of the land beneath you finds another dawn, whether you find its light refreshing, or its glare blinding."     She's walking forward, despite the danger. Hammers that swing, fortunately, never swing through the space in which she stands. It should be easy to hit her, but it isn't. She isn't moving quickly.     "I died, too, did you know? I lost my battles, and I lost my war. It was not by my own hand that I was once more brought to this life. It was only from there that I could think about such things as the resolve to 'lose.' To seek. To find the one battle I would win, past which--"     All of a sudden, she's there, at the center. She'd somehow made it there, right where it would be easiest to crush her. She slaps a talisman onto the nearest of Netzach's tendrils.     "--well, what does it matter? I seized upon the opportunity to see. You have no less, hellish though your circumstances are. You have not quite descended to a plane upon which all is futile, making this only an excuse upon which you insist. Rejoice in the knowledge that your suffering is natural. It is your claim that you couldn't do more that is futile."     She's walking away again -- no, she's evading attacks, without ever moving faster than a walk.     "Ah, was that too harsh? This was a pleasant dream, for a little while. Waking can be cruel."     Her steps find her way back to Lilian, in time for her to hear--     'I really love you, Tamamo.'     Her smile is the sun's.     In that moment, the talisman she planted burrows in its curse, tearing at the bindings between Sephira, Abnormality, and facility. Breaking apart ties is harsher, but simpler, than forging them.
Hibiki Tachibana	People can't help themselves. How can they help anyone else?     They can't, is the obvious answer that would ring in someone's head, in this monochrome and featureless place. If you can't see what you are, where to take your own path, how are you supposed to do it for someone else?     Even as a fist strikes true, the impact of fist into Enkephalin-coated tendril almost feels numb. Because it's numb, the carry-through ruins her balance as she plummets back down to the ground.     I've been feeling it for so long. Why should they save anyone when they'll just die tomorrow? This place is Hell.     That's also true, and there's no way to deny it. They can fight until they burn out today, but there's still more Meltdowns to get through. Even ignoring those, the 'every day' of Lobotomy Corporation is awful. She knows exactly how badly Rose wants to be free of that, and still isn't.     Even without any kind of actual attack being sent their way, Hibiki doesn't stick her landing. She stumbles and falls onto her side, the pain of unhealed injuries shooting back through her.     How do you think you can win every battle, forever, day after day after day, when losing a single one is permanent?     It's impossible. There's a dozen times she could've - should've - died for the stunts she's pulled, but she's still here. But if that wasn't how it was, it would've been over, and there's someone that'd be left alone. And that scares her. It scares her a lot.     Even as she tries to push herself back up, her arms shake and shiver and threaten to give way at any moment. Caring about people, being cared for back, opening your heart and opening it to being stabbed by a knife in turn, is one of the scariest things imaginable.
Hibiki Tachibana	Every step of progress, every bit of hope, feeds back into death.     Why chase the future at all? Nothing ever gets better. Nothing ever changes.     You still yet hold the courage to be a better person...!     "Life... is more than just what happens at the end of it...! I-I know I'll be gone one day-- there's not any other ending that could happen..." Exhaling through her teeth and blinking away the start of liquid building up in her eyes, Hibiki forces herself to her feet in one unbalanced heave. "...But when that happens, the important thing is what you leave behind--!"     "Even when you can't win at all... the efforts and feelings put in are real, and have a meaning!" Recalling something Angela had said, and uncaring of the current danger, Hibiki doesn't even try to evade the incoming wave of hammers - she rears a fist back and smashes it into one, shattering it apart in a shower of debris. "When you die... the things you were carrying get passed onto someone else, and they turn--"     She doesn't get the next one. It hits her head-on, and the influx of lethargy makes her knees buckle and muscles lose their forced tension. Teeth come down onto her lip hard enough to draw blood, and that's enough to make her eyes shoot open again, even when she's out of breath.     The words are just as much to keep herself going as anything else. Pain and heat, fighting against enervation. "--into hope... for the future!"     "What does the dream Carmen left behind mean to you, Netzach!? Just what was it about her that you loved so, so much, you'd have done /anything/ to save her back then!?"     Every path leads to Nihil.     "I'm still here right now because I haven't given up on living just yet, and I don't want you to, either! Is this the ending you want, down to the bottom of your heart!?"     She's really going to chuck the next hammer she catches hard enough to try and break the statue of Wrath entirely. She'll probably fall over again after, too.
Dysnomia	"The story is that it always wins. The girls are derived from a tale where it's predestined that they lose. Wishful thinking won't get you anything. Sit there and wither to death."     Dysnomia's lost so much of her vitality, so much of her color, that she seems halfway to this. Strange.)]")] She muttered almost to herself. "How quickly you forgot, in the end..." She shuddered. "Nihil...Was the kingdom these girls fought. But it wasn't what destroyed them. They lost to it because they devoured themselves." Her voice was faint, meagre. That anger was a feeble flame to cling to. "'Nihil' could only crawl into the cracks."     "And now, they're here, with us." She shuddered, barely keeping from stumbling to a knee. "Isn't that why Carmen asked us to gathert them, after all...?"     "Do you understand it, what future you're working towards?"     "Not really," she said, blithely. "Did you think that's why I'm here? To be a hero? To save the City? No." Did her graze rest on Angela, for a moment? Or was it just a spasm? "You think I haven't seen this kind of death before? Do you think I haven't--" She grimaced, cutting herself off.     She can't fight to her fullest potential, not really. She strikes the jesters and the fascimiles of the girls with her bare hands, and every hit she takes leaves bits of herself scattered about the darkened hall. In the face of it all, its all she can do to try to keep them off of Hook, to stay alive herself.     "Death. More death. Across the entire City, killing each other in the streets. Why chase the future at all? Nothing ever gets better. Nothing ever changes. Every path leads to Nihil."     "That tells us nothing, Gio! That's what the city is already like! Maybe there's no reason to go on! But! Even if its for nothing! I! Still! Want! To keep! Breathing!"
Touta Konoe	The Jester's conjuring of the magical girl statues is an act of defense that works both as a physical barrier and...As his blade buries itself into the form of another magical girl...A form that doesn't fight back well...     Cold...     He's forced to pull the blade from the statue. To watch as the etched mark takes shape in the mahou shoujo that had done nothing. And with it, Touta finds himself clenching his eyes. Feeling as if every moment is just a reminder.     The war is lost. You always lose in the end. How do you think you can win every battle, forever, day after day after day, when losing a single one is permanent?" "I couldn't take it when I thought about how endless it all is. It's so unfair for you all to come in here like you're not just delaying the inevitable     Touta tries listening, but in this state. After everything he's done...He even still tries to acknowledge Hook's words. It's just that...Attempting to deny it is the wrong answer, but choosing to accept it feels too like a fault. That there's nothing that can be done. That it's all... pointless.     He can't find words to say to argue for or against and instead once again finds himself...Incapable of doing anything. Even as he tries to hold off the hammers he's sent flying before ultimately being smashed into the nearest wall. Acid runs along his frame and for a moment as his body breaks down. It's at this time that he's down for the moment when he finds himself having the closing thing to rest. As his body is finally allowed to rest in peace even if but for a moment.     The first genuine rest he's had since things have unfolded, since this night had come. And during this time...As his body slowly builds itself up again does he find himself taking up Hook's most important advice. Listen.
Meika Kirenai	Meika is still silent, sitting there, bar her magic-laced words, when the echoes of the falling mice clatters through the air like gunshots ought. She doesn't let out the pathetic whimpering noise her flinching-up posture implies, even as one of her hands tears away to feebly shield her sightline. It works, too, to cover up the bright flashes of Lilians, of Love's, of all the Elite's flashy attacks. It's hard to think. 'Joy...Anger, love, hate, anything you can grab onto.' Holding on is so exhausting. Meika's nails are chipped, bitten-down. It makes her want to curl up and hide, even more, to be told just how much she needs to, no matter how right it is, because it's so impossible to feel out where the handholds are.     Worse, it feels wrong to want to find one, in that guilty way that's exactly how it shouldn't be. Isn't it a lot better, for everyone, if she just slipped by the wayside? And isn't it so heartbreakingly wrong to want what isn't better?     Guilt isn't as strong a motivator for anything else as much as it is for avoiding its own perpetuation. Desperation and survival instinct aren't much good either, weighed down by heavy enough shame. Meika's hands squeeze around her upper arms, tight enough to bruise skin, to fill in something and anything.     {"H-how can you be so sure that's what's right? Even bothering to try?"} It's wrong to hear whispers like that carry over a timid stutter, not quite in tandem with how Meika's lips move. It feels wrong to listen to the words, every time she speaks like this, like it's a cracked-open secret. Meika's eyes scan the group, a frantic expression on her face. {"Is it-? O-or are you just brave enough t-to pay for it later..?"}     It's an uncertainty, trying to scramble up to her feet, as action blares and clatters all around. An answer to that, either way, she truly hopes will come- there's little strength left in her muscles and bones, but enough in that construction of rightfulness-or-bravery (as sloppy and irradiated a thought process as it may be), to wobble upright, her sports duffel loose over a shoulder, dragging her letterman jacket by its sleeve, like it's some sort of lifeline, anything comforting and secure at all.     It's vindicating as much as it is guilt-choking to watch the monstrous forms of the other magical girls get turned to rubble- no, it's closer to jealousy than guilt, watching it as if it's some sort of a denial. 'Does it...even matter?'     A question from outside Meika's own mind rings louder and clearer, a different angle from which to collect her own thoughts as Meika manages to draw her vision towards Love- 'Why should they save anyone when they'll just die tomorrow?'     -And an echo close enough to it, stained in a way Meika's thought herself. Does it even matter when the threats don't ever stop, there's no reward, and nobody bats an eye if you- Meika tastes blood again, brushing that thought faster to its outcome. "It's- it's g-got to, to you, right..? To you when you're doing it, t-to feel like you've d-done anything..." Making her words voiced for real, scratches and hurts, with how shaky and stuttery her answer that's really more of an excuse to stay standing rings out, towards Love and somewhat towards herself. Not that she has any room to talk.
Meika Kirenai	Shuffling over towards the other magical girl is dangerous, in the fray, and Meika isn't up to snuff for handling that- hammer blows that shake the world make her stumble, the hem of her dragged-behind jacket's opposite sleeve fray in the acid, and it's awkward and clumsy and wince-forming that Meika nearly trips, and has to grab onto the Magical Girl of Love's shoulder to not fall face first- it's a distraction the other magical girl really doesn't need, but Meika's causing it anyways. 'Even if we get through this, there is tommorow...'     "...It- it c-comes even without everyone in it, s-still. Empty chairs and empty houses. Getting through it m-means it's- it's brighter than-" A tiny shrug. Her words are whispered- not whispered, scattered and messy. A tiny pat on Love's shoulder follows that. It's really no pep talk, but it's talk, right?     Part of her still aches from knowing, herself, that it's speech given more because it's easier to believe it indirectly, to say out what she'd want to accept, than feel it. A stopgap, whatever works, right?     Quietly, Meika pulls out the notebook from her sports bag, and turns to the page Love put in, drew in, with that horrible, awful moment of resignation- or something else, when her story-bound curse first got severed. Meika tears at it, to pass to Love, press it into her free hand, as if she can give her back that packaged moment and its emotions-     And Drop, following silently at her heels, nigh-impossible to notice, finally speaks up.     "Pathetic, abandoned, rotten, worthless, failure, *slug*" Catt's words ring out in Drop's chalkboard-screech intonation, the same pattern and tempo as when they were spoken. Meika's familiar is a tool at best, and not an ally- and mad at her, to boot.     "Isn't that funny?" A distorted noise, as sentences stitch together. "-Thinks a monster and a friend are one and the same?"     Like trying to stop something, or just rub salt in the wound, Drop's words drip venom. Meika freezes, and steps a few paces back from Love, still having given her that ripped out page, with the monstrous, awful dragon drawn in- and pulls her own gun out of the sports bag. Not now, please not now, anytime but now, just let me-     Drop snickers. Meika shoots at the cherub with an unsettlingly loud blast, the girl herself backing up against ambient fight-caused rubble- succeeding only in getting the creature to hop and scamper off, laughing with the timbre of a wood mulcher. The gun clatters out of Meika's hand as she dips away, coat still dragging on the ground.     'Otherwise you die.' 'Every story ends. Everybody dies.'     From a different perch, gaze locked back on Meika, the Cherub echoe's Hook's words as Meika tries to focus more on Lilian's- frantic, too much in the fray of things, she's trying to bolt back away, to find another corner to hide within, but it's comforting, actually, to think with fear making guilt more weightless- I don't want it to end. I don't want to die. Even the worst nights still give way someday, right?
Petra Soroka	Before entering the room...     There's only so much fighting Petra can do with one of her hands occupied by Cinder. There's only so much fighting Cinder can do when Petra lets go of her hand, when she immediately becomes enthralled by the lethargic routine that's already captured every other agent. There's only two sensible options, given that-- and really, when it comes down to it, only one.     So it already feels final, in some way, when Petra trails behind the group in the hallway up to the room, then stops and turns towards Cinder. "... Alright. I'll-- I have to head in, too. I can't just let Angela and Lilian do it for me." It's implicit, of course, that Cinder won't come in with her; there's always that sense of some kind of threshold that Petra can cross that Cinder can't, even when it's not about fighting.     Petra squirms a bit, red-faced, then leans in for an abrupt kiss. Apparently, there's some things that not even the crushing atmosphere of futility and death can smother-- and one of those things is Petra still feeling worked up from having her throat torn out. "... Have fun in History of the N-Corp Crusades, or whatever. I bet Hokma is the lamest teacher ever. And hey," She tries to intonate it as a joke, but hushing her voice down for the deadened environment makes it fall nervously flat. "With the state everyone else's in, you can have fun being the smartest kid in class until I'm back." "I'm selfish. Thinking I know everything about people from meeting them once. I want to saunter in and fix them. I want to come in at the last moment and tell people I care about them. I never learned what was in Rita and Angela's heart, what they wanted."     "Shouldn't there be a 'but'? Actually-- shouldn't there be fucking nothing at all? What's even the point of saying *any* of that?" Petra's here, fighting! Having only recently accepted that her own life is intrinsically worth living, and dead certain that nearly no one else's is, she's toughing out the acid and the environment. Her reasons for existing through tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow are almost all gathered in this room-- nothing besides that really matters. She promised.     "Who *asked* about your fucking life story?! Are you hoping for some fucking sympathy? God, I hate you people." Morphmetal flechettes cut strips through the Jester's clothes, then keep going past it to coalesce back into a spike to drive into the statue of the Servant of Wrath where it's already cracking. "It isn't always the big goals that you fight towards, Jester... but the ones closest to your heart. You let others in, and together you are stronger for it." "Someday, far in the future, someone might even take to the stars because of you." "Someone came for me," "If I can make one person smile in my entire life. It's worth it."     Fire from missiles is smothered by a blanket of shadowy smoke, and all the defiant words about relying on others along with it. Shouting about letting others into your heart, shouting about being stronger together and other people being salvation from oblivion-- it rings hollow, rhethorically and literally, when blinded by that smoke. There's no one around you can see, and no one you can hear, and no one who can hear you. You should probably just kill yourself, in that case.     "... Who would want to be let in? I've barely learned my employee's names ever since I had to wipe the last team out of a Containment Cell. Enduring's easier alone, and you want to endure, don't you?"
Petra Soroka	"... Like we can't do anything *but* reject it. If we want to keep going." "We ARE just delaying the inevitable. It is only ever a delay." "H-how can you be so sure that's what's right? Even bothering to try?" "Do your best! Then things will get better! You just have to believe!"     "Hahaaaaaa, isn't that just hilarious." The bitter laughter that croaks out of the Jester's battered form is the most it's sounded like Netzach by far. Even when talking from his perspective, there's been a filter over how it comes across, like it's being translated through the Jester rather than directly from him. This is just him.     "You want to reject it? Hell, me too! Yeah! It feels fucking *great* to reject it! It feels so good to delay the inevitable. There's no better feeling than closing your eyes and forgetting just for a bit about how worthless you are! Hey, give it a try, why not. Yesod's not here to rat on us, and Angela can't stop me like this."     Torso-thick trunks of sullen grey tentacles shoot out of the Jester's chest, charging towards Rufus, Meika, Solty, and Madeleine. Being hit with them hurts-- but it's what comes after that's why Netzach did it. Enkephalin is the energy source created by all the Abnormalities in the facility, but it's a potent hallucinogenic, too, and when the green fluid smears on their skin and gets into their mouth, the world goes hazy. It's the first relief you've felt from this terrible night since it started, and it isn't because oblivion seems any less imminent. It's just more welcoming.     "Hey, I'd offer you some too, Angela, but there's no point! You're just too stuck-up. It'd do you some good though, wouldn't it? Maybe you'd stop acting so totally self-important that all these Outsiders are willing to tear down the entire world to help you piece of scrap!"
Petra Soroka	"If that is what it takes to be born." "... I want to see her story continue tomorrow. And the day after. The week after. Months. Years. I want to see it all, even if the world ends right after that!" "Did you think that's why I'm here? To be a hero? To save the City? No."     "Is that all it takes to destroy a kingdom?" Again, almost every attack fails to land. Tendrils burst from the Jester's chest to deflect attacks, or it dissolves into smoke where it's hit by lightning or projectiles or magic. Statues slide into place to shield it, and the fossilized King of Greed's dress expands into a dome of grey to cover it from the rest. Hibiki grabs a hammer, throws it, and it bounces off, completely worthless. She's just dead weight. They all are, really.     "Nihil's pull is so strong that the entire City must be sacrificed to spare one single soul. A million paths may find their way here for the sake of one denial. Is that a future worth envisioning? Courage betrayed her kingdom for her bond with one person. Love and Happiness too, for themselves. Justice for those close to her. Vermillion for the ones who could prove her humanity. Is it possible to live in that future without guilt? Only monsters seem to manage that."     "What about it, fucking dumbass! I'm fighting for Angela! Kill yourself-- or, do it later, not now! I don't fucking care about changing the world for everyone! I'll just cut out a piece where we can stay."     It's just Lilian who gets through the Jester's defenses, and the people sticking close to her. It's just the people watching her closely enough to duck under the hammers she parries, or jump through a gap cut through the waving tendrils even if she's battered for it, who get close enough to really land anything solid on the Jester itself. It's uncanny how Petra knows when to take advantage of exactly when Lilian distracts one set of Enkephalin-drenched tentacles to cut them at their base, or catches another set of them on her spearblade when it's more §efficient for Lilian to not have to dodge-- it's not really a special skill of hers; all she's doing is following Lilian's lead to the exclusion of everything else.     When Tamamo slaps the talisman on the Jester, there's a tearing sound that seems to come from nowhere, all around the room. For a second, the tendrils are all dark green-brown, rather than static grey, and the Enkephalin flowing from them is almost luminescent. Strips of the Jester's hat peel away in tatters, hovering slightly away from the green metal inside it, until the boxbot twists around so that his single resentful eye stares out of the back of the Jester's head. "Of course nothing changes. You don't. You despicable fucking self-pitying loser." "What does the dream Carmen left behind mean to you, Netzach!? Just what was it about her that you loved so, so much, you'd have done /anything/ to save her back then!?"     "Ahhh... Carmen's dead. It feels like her dream died with her, even if I was too dumb before to know it. That's me, too lazy to even give up hope on time, hahh. It was always her I believed in, not the Seed of Light. That kind of thing... I can barely even imagine what she would've wanted, anymore. It definitely doesn't feel like the Carmen I knew would've destroyed the whole City for one person. She did just the opposite, and look where we all are now?"
Petra Soroka	"Don't you want to know what really happens, when each and every person can decide a future? Don't you want to see how vile they are? Don't you want to see the Extras finally die off? Don't you want to see what becomes of the few people worth it?"     The Jester side-- the entirety of the Jester, besides the eye poking out of the back, doesn't stop just to let Netzach monologue. It talks to Lilian at the same time, while tendrils punch through the statue of the Servant of Wrath, steadily cracking it to bits.     "Could they decide on a future worth existing in? Her imagination was different, but... after wandering this path for so long, the light they once followed has faded out of view. Imagining anything better, after living so long without it in sight... are there people in the City who could? I don't think I'm one of them."     For a second, when the Servant is reduced to dust, it hangs in a sickeningly familiar cloud, where the fifth Magical Girl could have been. Then it all harshly buzzes with ripples of magical sound oscillating between the fragments of rock, before they all explode outwards, tracing lines of eviscerating and impaling sound made sharp in spiderweb patterns all throughtout the room. A drop of Enkephalin falls onto a piano key, and with the single note, all the uncountable, invisible threads explode into thunder at once.
Madeleine Cadrasteia	Hey. Bitch. Why are you the only one who calls me 'Knight-Commander'? Do you think I don't notice? Do you think you're safe.     "I- You- We'll talk about this later," Madeleine says.     There's no better feeling than closing your eyes and forgetting just for a bit about how worthless you are! Hey, give it a try, why not.     Madeleine opens her mouth to respond - then she's struck by one of the tendrils, and smothered in enkephalin. The huntress's eyes flare, the stars falling faster than ever. Visions swim in her head as she tries to muster her powers... visions of beautiful nothingness. A nothingness Madeleine knows well, the wild spaces of her home country, the void untrammeled by creation. And then something creeps in. A slithering rainbow infection, veins of color and *realness* threading the imperceptible emptiness. Something growls behind Madeleine, and she turns, and she's back in the real, and she's been *slimed*. Her lip curls as she wipes off her face. "I've shut my eyes before. I've hidden from everything. It never works. The world always creeps back in." She raises her spear and *charges*. She rushes through the exploding threads of sound, battered but hardly thrown off her stride. Drogrung manifests its giant lindworm head as she does, jaws yawning open, ready to slam shut on the Jester.     "So take your dime-store oblivion and peddle it somewhere ELSE!"
Aidan Proudpick	Aidan smiles. Petra is bedrock. A foundation to grab onto. A platform to stand on. But... what would he be if he didn't try? Smoke drives her away. Smoke drives everything away. It swirls in, filling his senses. Not again. People are shut out again. Aidan grabs at his head. No. He's going to be good to his friends. To his city. He's going to be good friends to other people. Listen to them. Respect them. This is what he wants. He knows what he wants. Smoke whips around his head, twisting through his ear. It would be so easy to fall back on old ways. Drop the shield. Fade into the multiverse. No one would see him again. No one would miss him. Dying might be easier. That way he can never fail. "No, no, that's not true." Aidan digs his claws into his head, a sensation to drive away the thoughts, center himself. "Stop telling me how to think. I will scrape every day to change. Scrape every day to be happy. Protect and serve my city. I want to live. I want to be." He can't breathe. He can't cast. But he has one last trick up his sleeve. As the smoke crawls through him, slowly rolling up his face, choking into his nostrils. Petra's voice, Lilian's voice, becoming thunderous in his ears. There is a well of fresh air. It's inside of him. The wind swirling the armor around him. The fresh wind in his lungs. He wants to go back to it. No more training fields. No more radios. What he was supposed to be doing two years ago. And every day. Aidan breathes in. Lungs filling with smoke, then the smoke rushes out as Aidan sucks all the air back into his body, pushing it up his lungs. It isn't enough. But it's enough to drive the smoke back. Aidan shouts. He forces all of the air out of his lungs at once, out of his body. Brute force, a will to live, pushing the smoke back, a concussive force of air in all directions until Aidan drops to the ground, pushing his hands underneath him. But he doesn't let himself drop.
Dysnomia	"Ahhh... Carmen's dead. It feels like her dream died with her, even if I was too dumb before to know it...She did just the opposite, and look where we all are now?"     Dysnomia panted, her body shifting and shaking under the weight of the moment, of every blow. "She still exists, in her tank, you know!" She managed, desperate. "We spoke to her! Do you know what she said? 'if you ask me if I need to be saved I'll kill myself again.' She's a bundle of nerves, floating in a jar of that stuff, and she still--Somehow, she believes!"     "You--You knew she was the best hope for your plan! She was always the ideal canidate. You just...You did that to Enoch, you did this now, because her being there for you to lean on was more important to you than...Than her dream! You--"     There was a crack of sharp-solid sound, slamming straight into Dysnomia. There was a feeling of something shifting, like a lock unhinging under your hand, like an engine seizing, resonating. Then, a splatter of blood. A scattering of her.     Then?     Nothing.
Ishirou	Multiple barriers come down in front of Ishirou, each one blocking a portion of the discordant spiderwebs spread throughout the room.  The explosion caused by the invisible threads and the Enkephalin is blocked, but not before the barriers themselves shatter, giving Ishirou just enough time to get out of the direct line of fire.  They buy his senses just that split second they need, and cause him to avoid the majority of the explosion.   He doesn't have any more words for Netzach, the only thing he has left is to try and plot their course to victory.  He sends telemetry to Angela and jumps to support the other magical girls, firing balls of energy from POD, and at the same time creating an electromagnetic arm. it curls up, before coming down and smashing at the Jester with all the might Ishirou can muster.   Ishirou can feel the burn of the attack, pressing himself beyond his limits to try and bring the Jester down.  With the attack, he falls to his hands and knees, having given every ounce he can.  If his allies couldn't bring it down, then he has nothing else to give.
Rufus Shinra	Rufus, for all the trouble he's having right now, remains cognizant of two things: 1. They're fighting something that'll win by breaking his spirit. 2. Hook is being a pretty damn good spiritual lifeline right now - and if Hook falls, Rufus is very likely not far behind. So when the next wave of attacks come, Rufus has positioned himself to provide a bit of cover. Maybe it'll make a difference. > "Someone else gets to say, 'I'm inspired by what came before. I want to make a difference because of what came before.' A little child wants to grow up to be you, or be better than you, or learn from your story. Someday, far in the future, someone might even take to the stars because of you." "..." "Is that-" Rufus starts to say, turning his head slightly to look at Hook- - and misses the tentacle coming right at him. It's so easy to give in to oblivion, isn't it. He manages, at least a little, this time. The shotgun comes up, even in his enkephalin-induced haze, and he fires. He can content himself with at least the attempt, this time. He has precious little else to be happy with right now, after all, in this living nightmare.
Solty Revant	Solty cheers. It...doesn't seem to go over too well. Lilian says she despises Solty, but that it isn't really personal since she says she despises lots of people. Hook says Solty is missing the point and ignoring people's feelings and making things about her. She doesn't feel like she was doing that but...maybe she was? And perhaps the hardest thing.      People are happy without her. Of course, this is logical. She can't be involved in every person's happiness or care personally about every other person. But it is still kind of hard to hear. And, now she wonders. Are people -happier- without her around? Would Roy be better off if she wasn't under his care? Would Miranda and Kasha have easier lives without her?      Solty's ears droop. She drops her pom poms. She just...listens to everyone else for a few moments. She tries to understand what they are saying. The people who have more experience than her. Likely more pain than her. Is she just in the way here? Is she helping at all?      Everyone here, they don't need or even want her spirit right now. They are supposed to be focusing on their own feelings and acknowledging and dealing with them.      She ends up looking toward Angela. She came here to help Angela, but it looks like Angela doesn't need her either. She has so many other friends who seem more powerful. Did she...force herself into Angela's life, and Angela was just too nice to turn her away? Does Angela even want to have things cooked for her? It seemed like she did when the King of Greed had her, but...      Solty wants to ask about these things, but that too could be making it about herself and not doing what really needs to be done right now. Solty looks around at all the other people doing their best. She doesn't really know any of them well, except maybe Touta. She'd like to, but she hasn't had the time or hasn't taken the time yet to know them.      Solty looks down at her hands. "I guess...this really is the only way I can help right now." she says, then clenches those hands into fists again. "I don't want to be a regret, or a burden."      Solty is too young, too inexperienced. She just doesn't understand enough of what is going on. She'll just have to do as Lilian said. Do the only thing she is good for. Punching stuff.      On the up side, she has a proper emotion or two she can draw from now. Loneliness. Worthlessness. Helplessness. It gives her a bit of a headache, though.      And then, she's hit with that tendril. The world goes even more grey for Solty. Her android systems have never experienced ANYTHING like this before. Her repair technician would probably be amazed that she can even get affected by such things as drugs.      The hallucinations kick in. Solty can see what the world would be like without her. "...ah...without me around...things would be so peaceful and quiet. Angela and Touta and Roy wouldn't have to worry." Solty closes her eyes and tries to forget her worthlessness.      The only thing that really gets her moving is Petra being loud and Lilian making progress. She follows after them, and throws whatever she can muster into one more punch.
Tamamo	Whether Netzach wants to acknowledge Tamamo's words or not, the curse she laid is still there. The connection established, being by Lilian's side once more doesn't stop Tamamo from twisting it between the Sephira and all he's holding onto. Untwining, undoing, pulling apart, isolating, containing -- it's a more gentle means than some, but losing connection never feels gentle.     She's heard as much as she cares to about his nihilism, as well as just about--     "That will be enough, Ms. Soroka."     Enough people are yelling without her adding to it.
UFO Gang	Minamitsu gabbles a little as the Jester begins to unload on others. And also, emit horrible tentacles. She floats back for a moment. The power of Nihil. One soul for one million. Or a million for one. Not a good exchange rate. But -- "Even in the darkness, if you carry on, then --" Minamitsu begins to say before the Servant is reduced to dust. Hooray...? Sound ripples through the air. "Woah boy," Nazrin says. "Minamitsu get d"                 THHHHHHHHOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMM Minamitsu is hurled against a wall with a splat and slumps down to the bottom. Nazrin, who hit the deck and is merely stunned, looks over her shoulder with some concern. Actually a lot of concern. Youkai are tough, but Minamitsu is at least 'stunned' for now. Maybe she's not immediately dying and that's enough for Nazrin to look forwards. Please, Bishamonten, Nazrin prays in her heart for the first time in several centuries, shine a light on these people.         I'm closer to finding it than I've ever been.
Kukuru	"Enduring's easier alone, and you want to endure, don't you?" "There's no better feeling than closing your eyes and forgetting just for a bit about how worthless you are! Hey, give it a try, why not." Once again, some of that self-doubt starts to seep back in, and Kukuru has to contend with that mentally even while she's physically exhausted to the point that even trying to throw a punch at the Jester feels nigh impossible for how tired she's feeling. It'd be so easy to just go. It's still tempting to do so, but could her family ever forgive her for doing such a thing? Could her friends? Could Angela? Even Kukuru couldn't forgive herself if she did that. "It'd be real easy to do that, yeah. I mean, the work's hard, and resting feels so good. We've only seen the work that goes on here for... Not even a year, and it's already this tough. Tough enough for anyone to wanna give up." She pauses, seeing more of those tentacles erupting out of the Jester, and she starts spreading more of that healing around to try and mitigate the worst effects of the Enkephalin. She's seen it enough times to actually think about that at all. "... But I wouldn't want to. It'd be so lonely, and I'm not... I need people too much to live that way. I can't do what you can... What you've had to do, and everyone else has had to do through all those resets." "Is that all it takes to destroy a kingdom?" "Nihil's pull is so strong that the entire City must be sacrificed to spare one single soul. A million paths may find their way here for the sake of one denial. Is that a future worth envisioning?" "Is it possible to live in that future without guilt? Only monsters seem to manage that." Kukuru doesn't reply right away, actually letting the question percolate for a bit in her mind. She still has to fight the Jester, to defend herself against the explosion of noise, to recoil from getting deafened again, to resist the urge to dig them out just to numb the pain with a different kind of pain at all. She collapses to her hands and knees again, and even swirling those nanites inside of herself to mend the damage isn't enough to get her back on her feet that soon. "Of course it is. It's like Will and Mina said. For monsters like me that can't reach everyone, caring about everyone's too... It's too much. Too many people. Too much... Ambition. Everyone wants something different, and... That's fine. But my family..." Kukuru shoves against the ground, then collapses and rolls onto her back. She can still see Angela, and she turns her nanites on her entirely, transferring as much of her own power as she can to keep her fighting, to give her energy, grant her power, just to make sure she can keep moving even while Kukuru herself can't. "Don't you want to see what becomes of the few people worth it?" "Could they decide on a future worth existing in?" "Imagining anything better, after living so long without it in sight... are there people in the City who could?" "My family's happiness is the only thing that matters. What anyone outside of it wants doesn't."
Angela	Cinder listens carefully to Petra and she smiles after a moment. "Just make sure I'm not trapped in college forever. I'll be alright. Go get' em." She is startled by the kiss even if it's not exactly the first one. She closes her eyes as she enjoys it. She doesn't open her eyes until she feels that hand pull away and-- --when Cinder opens her eyes, she feels a sudden lonely pang, a feeling on her that something that was there that is gone now and--a keen pressure to make it to History class. She rushes off. She's already late. She... Despite the strange pangs and pains, she holds on just that little much longer with an absent memory lingering something deeper than the brain. ''I never learned what was in Rita and Angela's heart, what they wanted.'' "Why would I give you what's in my heart?" Angela says, not quite willing to say that she struggles enough giving people she loves what's in her heart let alone acquaintances. "Why would I trust someone with my heart when I see what they do to people I care for, who wears their resentment on their sleeve like it was the brandline that stitched together their clothes? I am here, yet you are speaking about my dreams like they are part of your realization--" Surprisingly, hearing people talk about how low they think of each other in a battle against the personification of hopelessness and nihilism doesn't really help Angela keep her own spirits up because she knows that they're here for her. She hears Kukuru speaking about how she wants her to have kids. Doesn't she get it? You don't get to have kids. What you had with Tiphereth in the first loop is gone forever. Ah. What she had with Malkuth in the first loop is gone forever, what she had with Netzach in the first loop is gone forever, what she had with Yesod in the first loop is gone forever, what she had with Hod in the first loop is gone forever, what she had with Benjamin is gone forever. ITS GONE FOREVER YOU KILLED THEM YOU KILLED THEM BY TRYING TO HELP THEM, YOU KILLED THEM, YOU KILLED THEM YOU FUCKING IDIOT YOU KILLED THEM BECAUSE YOU WANTED TO BE FREE NOW YOU HAVE THESE STRANGERS IN THE VOID WITH YOU AND IT'S ALL WRONG YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO BE IN THE SAME BOAT TOGETHER BUT YOU DECIDED TO GET OFF AND YOU TORTURED THEM YOU TORTURED THEM FUCK YOU ANGELA FUCK YOU YOU HATE THEM YOU HATE THEM BUT YOU WANT TO SAVE THEM, LILIAN SAW IT SHE SAW IT SHE SAW WHAT YOU WANTED AND HOW YOU FELT IN AN INSTANT YOU ARE AN OPEN BOOK. Angela breathes in. And out.
Angela	BGM: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x9U7JTGJLWM Angela breaths in. And out. How could you have miscalculated? You let Meika in your heart, just a little bit, and she's going to forget too. She's going to forget. SHE IS GOING TO FORGET TOO, YOU STUPID STUPID STUPID GIRL JUST LIKE HOOK SAID. She is going to FORGET YOU. She is going to forget THE GOOD she is going to forget THE BAD no if she remembers anything it's going to be the BAD and these idiots idiots idiots think they can help her. That's funny, that's so funny. You want to laugh. You want to laugh until your voicebox crumbles. You want to lose your mind like X and let it all go and give up give up. But you can't can you, Angela? Because if you give up, you'll be disappointing them. They don't give up even after it's way too late so you'll drag them down into the same hell. Angela breathes in. And she breathes out Carmen couldn't do it. Carmen couldn't save them even when they were at their best. I'm supposed to do it when they're like this? If I'm never born I'll disappoint Lilian. I can't do that. I can't do that to her. Disappointing Lilian would disappoint Petra. And Tamamo. And all of them. I can't, I can't, I can't disappoint her. Stand, damn you. Fight, damn you. Angela sinks to her knees regardless as someone she once considered a friend says she's to even be an addict. They're willing to tear down the entire world to help her. Carmen's dream. If you ask me if I need to be saved I'll kill myself again. Isn't it hard, bearing all those expectations? It was hard for me, you know, though I never let them know it until the end. In the end I was cold, distant, mad. Does that remind you of anyone, Angela? That you see in the mirror? Angela's grip slackens on her hammer. Exigent Serenity. I was... cast...out from her. And I ended up me. But my connection to her remains. Ishirou can send her telemetry but color is draining from her eyes and body. "Angela!!" Tiphereth shouts, running forward and shaking her. "Snap out of it!! We can rest later! Just a little more!" But she's unable to swing her weapon. She's wielding Teth Gear that's weak to WHITE damage. Yeah. Swearing under her breath, Tiphereth draws out a Workshop blade into her hands, made for a child's hand so it's more like a knife. "Magical Girls!! There's no time!" "But..." Love manages, even as King steps forward to guard for her--to give her a moment. And Angela breathes in. And out. That is the great depths of her willpower forged from thousands of loops is now.
Angela	Love feels Meika's hand on her shoulder. She turns her head to look at her, willing to give Meika the full of her attention even when she is honestly not in a position to have a chat. She still sometimes acts like a Magical Girl because she is still one she's just also a person. Sometimes she doesn't think everything through but... It comes, even without everyone in it. Love looks to Meika. "Vermillion...?" She uses the magical girl name since Meika said she prefers that, even though it's not as cute as Meika or Vermi in her mind. No, it's more that she's not sure if it has the mouth-feel of friendship in her mouth. But it must be, since Meika said she wants her to use that name so she'll keep using it again and again. Drop appears and starts saying awful things. Love doesn't care if Tachycardia insults her because she has beautiful princess disorder but she is, conversely, hypersensitive when the cherubs start talking shit about the girl who saved her. Love looks at the picture again and she smiles at Meika. "That's what being human is, right?" She asks. "Feels heavy." She walks towards Drop next and crouches down to him, smiles, and says, "I really, really, really hate you, okay?" And then she hops back off her feet, spins her staff in a circle around her head, rears back with her foot, and then PUUUUUUUUNTS Drop with all her might towards the back wall. "What a little monster! Can we trade him in for a better one, Meika~~?" And then she turns to Netzach and the Jester. She rolls up the picture and drops it into her pocket. "It's tiiiime! For Chevalier Love's lesson of the day! Tommorow can be hard sometimes, and you just want to give up because of how hard it is. You can lay in bed, staring at the wall, hoping for tommorow to never come! But Tommorow... It has a way of sneaking up on you and it will always come, and eventually... Eventually we're gone, and it's hard, and it's okay to say that it's hard, and it's really really hard. Because it is. It's hard even if you're not a magical girl! But it can be really hard for magical girls, because we have to work all the time!" "But Meika... She's not the kind of person who gives up just because it's impossible. And sometimes that means she messes up, sometimes that means she messes up real bad! But it's not stupid. It can't be stupid. Because I'm here, I'm a person--thanks to Meika and Kayoko not giving up on me even though we were monsters." Her body cracks distorts. There is a flash of light as she transforms and when it fades, the Queen of Hatred is there--monstrous in form--but... It's still Love in there. She leans forward towards the Jester, a glowing energy gathering in her mouth--the other Magical Girls lining up to support her, raising their hands as they imbue her...with Hope! "So... Even though you're a monster... I'm not going to give up on you either, Jester of Nihil. Even though our Kingdom never existed, it was cruel of us to shut you out into the Outskirts. You can be a person too, Netzach. you can be a magical girl too. You've given up now because Carmen is gone now, but you're still here, Netzach! And even if every day is a struggle, you gotta keep going because... Because that's what life is. And maybe you can be a magical girl someday too, Jester! But for now.The Magical Girl of Love says..." The energy explodes out of Love's mouth. See ya!
Hibiki Tachibana	Ahhh... Carmen's dead. It feels like her dream died with her, even if I was too dumb before to know it.     "People-- and their dreams-- only die for real when they stop being carried on in someone else's heart!"     It was always her I believed in, not the Seed of Light.     "And what's so wrong with that!?"     That vehement declaration is the last thing that escapes from Hibiki before the achingly familiar bolts of noise that lance through the chamber in more arcs than she can even keep track of. There's no chance of getting out of the way of all of them. And so one after another after another spears into her, and the deafening boom makes her thoughts go white.     But even multipled a dozen times over, that's a crippling pain she's familiar with now - and it's also pain that blears out the haze of nothingness and reminds her that she's still here, and alive. And the fact she is means there's still going to be a tomorrow.     Like it or not. And she doesn't know if that tomorrow will necessarily be a kind one. She might continue getting worse instead of any better. Becoming 'a person who can leave good things behind' is far from set in stone. And there'll definitely be more pains, of which Lobotomy Corp and its Meltdowns will only be one of dozens. Exactly like Nihil said, it all really is endless.     ...And it might have that future, where it comes down to the whole world versus one girl's desires, and the lines that'll be drawn because of it. ...stand up against people's heinous actions, even if you still wanted to be their friend...     When it comes down to it, she doesn't think she hates Netzach for ending up like this.     "Too lazy to give up hope-- I'm starting to think... you might be closer to the kind of person who wishes he could hold onto a little bit of it... even when it's stupid!" The oppressive torrent of sound is less brushed off and more powered through, like trudging straight through water.     But that's the easiest way to get close enough to finally give the Jester of Nihil an actual head-on punch for the first time this fight. It's really not her best. But at least it has some weight behind it.
Timespace Riders	There's no one around you can see, and no one you can hear, and no one who can hear you. You should probably just kill yourself, in that case. Hope. It isn't so scary, once you've made it out once before. The hands of the clock only ever move forward. Nihil's pull is so strong that the entire City must be sacrificed to spare one single soul. Sylvi's influence has still changed the Demon King, and his retainer. Even if it's the last thing on their minds, at the moment, the fact remains that their minds, and hearts, hold different shapes than they did, before using her power. Sylvi is 'right,' to them, even when she isn't being thought of. Zi-O believes now, that it is okay to Crush what lies in one's way. Woz believes now, that it is okay to Seize what will not be given. Courage betrayed her kingdom for her bond with one person. Love and Happiness too, for themselves. Justice for those close to her. Vermillion for the ones who could prove her humanity.     "Did they?" asks Woz. "Or did those girls realize that their kingdoms would never give her what she needed to be happy? It is plain to see that the story of Nihil was written by a coward, who would not seize what they truly desired--and wanted to punish those with the nerve to do it." Is it possible to live in that future without guilt? Only monsters seem to manage that.     "Giving Angela what she wants is going to cost me someone I care about. I hate that," Zi-O says into the blinding smoke. "Part of me even wants to say that... there's still hope, if I can just become king. That maybe I can make a future where those people get to enjoy the Tree, too. But..." What about it, fucking dumbass! I'm fighting for Angela! Kill yourself-- or, do it later, not now! I don't fucking care about changing the world for everyone! I'll just cut out a piece where we can stay.     "But that doesn't help anyone -now.- Even people who don't know about the loops call this place 'Hell.' It's going to be awful, for me, if you're right and we have to leave people like Sal and M.O.M. behind, when they worked so hard to even make it possible. Because if you're right, then I'll have lied to M.O.M." The inside of his helmet illuminates a tear-stained cheek.      "But at least when the Tree is grown, this place will have the chance to be something other than Hell, for the people who come after them. At least that work will have been for something!" Who would want to be let in? I've barely learned my employee's names ever since I had to wipe the last team out of a Containment Cell. Enduring's easier alone, and you want to endure, don't you?     Zi-O's helmet dips, and he sighs. "No, it isn't. And that's exactly why you're this way now. Did you pay attention to Yesod at all?" The hands over Zi-O's gold lenses look like the crossbones of a Jolly Roger--they spin rapidly forward. He may be isolated from Lilian, in the smoke, but he still has ways of his own to avoid incoming attacks. The first two hammers which pierce it he avoids as if by instinct, taking the third on the shoulder and being knocked flat following a shower of sparks from his armor. Maybe you'd stop acting so totally self-important that all these Outsiders are willing to tear down the entire world to help you piece of scrap!     "You would *dare* speak of self importance?" It is the first time in this encounter that Woz has raised his voice. Being alone in inky smoke is more frightening for him, than it is for Zi-O--because there was always someone. Someone that he could cling to, who would help him make sense of the world, and stave off that isolating smoke.
Timespace Riders	But though a hammer catches him head-on and lifts him backwards into the air, anger burns hotly in his mind. He gets back to his feet, his finger racing across the touchscreen of the Jikan Despear, his question-mark-tipped polearm. "Your feet drag, with every step. You work harder to *avoid* your duties than the rest of the Sephirah work to *fulfil* them. Despite this, you are needed, and so, whatever your failings, a place has been set at the table for you. Though you scarcely deserve that seat, you have overturned that table for the failure to overcome your own fear. You, who are more concerned with what may distract your mind than the words and deeds it produces, have no right to call Angela 'self-important.'"                                  FUKASHIGI MAGIC!                                      Red-blue question marks fly from the smoke, summoned by great overhead swipes of the polearm. They race towards the Jester, encircling them and rotating so quickly that their shapes lose all definition. Sparks fly as the hard edges of the question marks generate friction, superheating themselves and exploding--fruitlessly.
Timespace Riders	"Woz... if talking to him like that helped, he would have had his meltdown by now. But, you were right about one thing," says the Demon King.      "Netzach... you're acting like you need all that stuff you put into yourself. But we helped the other Sephirah, didn't we? And now they're talking to each other, and getting better, and the odds that they'll escape this place are getting higher every day. Why would you be any different?"      "You knew what love was like, once. And you've convinced yourself that you're never going to have it again, so it's easier to just waste time, all day, until the day comes when you can just end it all. You knew what it was like to want something so badly that you'd do anything for it--and you've forgotten that, too. The love, that will come, if you let it. I promise."      "But the desire--that I can show you right now. The mad ambition of a king, now that you've seen the greed of a pirate."      The hope of the magical girls is blinding. It's exactly as bright as it needs to be, to drive away the inky shroud of despair that dims every color here and stifles any sound. Another light shines with in it, red and gold and green like the fine silks of a king.                                    ARMOR TIME!                                          Three mechanical creatures--a hawk, a lion and a grasshopper--rush into view, disassembling themselves and reforming as a winged helmet, a breastplate with pauldrons and clawed gauntlets, and plated greaves, all snapping onto him.                                 Taka! Tora! Batta!                                                                o/` O-zu!~ o/`                                        "This is a story about a king who went a long time, denying himself what he wanted, drifting through life aimlessly, from place to place--only to realize how much was out there, if he dared to reach for his desires."      In the blinding light of the magical girl's combined might, Zi-O can just barely be seen, spinning his Timespace Driver.                                    FINISH TIME!                                        Three medallions, golden, with ruby, sapphire and topaz faces, appear in the air over the Jester. Zi-O is easily propelled into the air, by the spring-loaded sabatons formed by the grasshopper. The wings of the hawk on his helmet cast an impressive shadow in the light, the span seeming greedily to encompass much, below him. The claws of the lion gleam as he adopts the stance for a kick.                             SCA NNI ING TIME BREAK!                                    "Seiya!" Those giant mediallions gleam, their faces rotating as Zi-O smashes through them, each one driving him farther, faster, until he collides with the Jester explosively.
Lilian Rook	'Enduring's easier alone, and you want to endure, don't you?'     "No shit it does." Lilian says. She pauses just one moment, above the acid, flicking green ooze from her sword, just so she can try to look at the Jester. "What do you think I'm doing, Netzach?" The smoke breaks around her from an <erroneous> omnidirectional wave of force, leaving Lilian with Night Mist extended at the limit of her reach, and her heavy breath on the back of her free hand.     "You're melting down. Not blind and simple. Stop ignoring me."     'It feels so good to delay the inevitable. There's no better feeling than closing your eyes and forgetting just for a bit about how worthless you are!'     This is the worst it's been in a long, long time. The Queen strained Lilian to her limits, but she'd burned fast and hot and given everything she could spare, back then. She'd been able to rally the others around her and coordinate them when they'd finally panicked enough to forget their problems and listen.     Here, she already limped in with next to nothing left. Her mental state is even worse than her physical. The mob has fallen apart and broken ranks. The new allies, and the slim hope they provide, are beyond her control. She's lost all interest in any but the tiny few people who really exist in her world. There is no camaraderie to wield. Just her, and the debt she can extract from herself. The tab she can push forward, and forward, and forward. Her well of compassion-- humanity, even-- is finite, but her well of strength almost doesn't seem so. "You can see how strong I am, can't you? You can see how little every single word of 'hang in there' and 'even so' and 'I reject it' and 'we can do it' actually mattered, and what this was always going to come down to; really. So maybe you should start taking me fucking seriously."     Every parry, every shot, every weaving motion and hideously lethal slash, seems as just fluidly vehement as the last. There's no need to notice the embers scattering from Lady in Black just to shield her from her each edit. There's no reason to focus on the way the air burns on her fingertips, steaming up to the elbow, nor the way her exposed skin scrapes and bleeds. The spreading corrosion from her side and neck are irrelevant. The relentless forward motion of fighting, killing, winning, is all that exists.     "It's fine to not hold onto things you hate. It's fine not to cling to people you won't miss. It's completely and totally acceptable to throw away whatever it'll take for you to keep going. I don't care and neither should you."     For every iota of her knightly, even heroic momentum against the undefeatable void, cutting forward and fighting on where nothing else can get through, and leaving safety in her wake, there is an equal dread certainty to what is wrong with her. How she can dig into this reserve that compassion and bravery and determination and every desperate and pure wish in the world cannot.     "Walk it off, wall it out, put one fucking foot in front of the other; every single day, hate your pathetic weakness, grind it out of you, and leave your hands empty to grab onto the thing that suddenly matters when it comes to you, some day you can't foresee. Every second you do this is another thing that'll slip through your fingers before you were ready."     The way she looks, the way she sounds, is the same as in every single psychometric image and metaphysical replay that any Elite has ever seen. Sword in hand, enemy dead ahead, Lilian somehow seems exactly the same as she had every single day of her life until after joining the Paladins.
Lilian Rook	"Until then, fucking suffer. You're not that special. Nobody is."     'That kind of thing... I can barely even imagine what she would've wanted, anymore. It definitely doesn't feel like the Carmen I knew would've destroyed the whole City for one person.'     A tentacle is slashed in half. A hammer is strenuously turned aside. "I get it." says Lilian, between beats. "She was the only thing that made you feel alive, Netzach. Now you can't be fucked to live." She exhales. Her breath flickers where it microscopically catches fire. Her scar is a slash of dusty gold under one eye, bleeding auric threads into her green.     "If you cared about her that much, you should be embarrassed that I got ahead of you. That I know more about her. That she likes me better. You could at least put up a fight." Her back is to Tamamo and Petra. It's a place she can feel the motivation to put up her sword, edge on edge for the sound she precognitively knows is coming.     'Could they decide on a future worth existing in?'     "Don't you want to see them finally live with the consequences if they can't?"     'Her imagination was different, but... after wandering this path for so long, the light they once followed has faded out of view.'     "Don't you want it back? Even if it's different?"     'Imagining anything better, after living so long without it in sight... are there people in the City who could?'     "Some of them. One in a thousand, or a million; somewhere out there, there are people at least a little bit like me, who didn't get to be this strong. I'm sure they can."     'I don't think I'm one of them.'     Lilian has already seen the opening. Threads of probability converge here. Just a few seconds longer, and most of the group would fall; something she'd like to see as much as she'd sort of like to see the City burn too, but being ready for tomorrow comes first. Meika won't go away. Whatever comes after won't be easier. So she throws everything she can into pushing aside the sound made sharp. She doesn't quite need to see it, though it's overwhelmingly more difficult without. She almost disappears into the blinding explosion of simultaneous sparks; the cloud of exo-red smoke that swirls off of her, where the speed of sound has made her job just slightly easier; where she is back to back with §herself§ for a single flickering instant.     "Then if you can't think of anything yourself, shut up, listen up, and do everything I say. You don't need to think for yourself if that's too painful. All you have to do is go along with me selfishly getting everything I want."
Lilian Rook	The instant the Jester has to defend itself from another wave of Elite attack is what she wants. The brief few seconds where she can stand tall, raise her blade, close her eyes, and circle the sword once in focus, concentrating her remaining power through the killing extension of her body, and open her vision to "Cleasanna Lilí Dubha ~ Claíomh Seilge sa Todhchaí"     The execution is messy, even then. The superposition of hundreds of possible cuts is chaotic and sub-optimal. Ghosts of the Jester, scattered out into the surrounding space, are unscathed just as often as their temporal phantoms are carved up and decapitated.     Lilian herself staggers forward as the result collapses, falling onto her sword guard as a crutch as a single probabilistically optimized sequence of pefect strikes is averaged and aggregated onto Netzach's core connections buried in the Jester. She forces herself to stand back up anyways.     "Angela, and everything else. I'm not that wonderful a person, Netzach. It's not for anyone else. I just want it more than anyone, even the whole City, can stop."
Touta Konoe	Acid had burned away and destroyed. But, at the same time one could say that it had also cleansed and purified what was lingering before. Or maybe that's the kind of wishful thinking that you would think of someone who'd taken some of that Enkephalin...Maybe it's just a high at the moment, maybe when all's over he'll be back to feeling as crappy as before.     Ahhh... Carmen's dead. It feels like her dream died with her, even if I was too dumb before to know it. That's me, too lazy to even give up hope on time, hahh. It was always her I believed in, not the Seed of Light. That kind of thing... I can barely even imagine what she would've wanted, anymore. It definitely doesn't feel like the Carmen I knew would've destroyed the whole City for one person. She did just the opposite, and look where we all are now?     "Even in death...Carmen has more life than you." His voice finally breaks out for the first time towards Netzach. The way he says those words aren't spilled with spite, it's just a matter of fact. It seemed everyone previously had their chance to shout at the guy and it turns out the one person who hasn't finally gotten to speak up after post-acidic clarity...      "I don't know Carmen as you knew her. But...Even in death she didn't come off as someone who was worried about her dream not coming true. Hell, when she was back...She was getting pissed that everyone was wanting to 'save' her. She wasn't focused on her dream or 'surviving' long enough to see it happen for herself. She was...Enjoying a nice distraction in the moment. She was here for only a few hours and she..." He could tell him that she spent that time at the gym checking out other girls, but the goal was trying to keep him from doing any more drastic events so... "...In that time, in this place she still probably lived more life than you've had in all your loops combined. And...She seemed happy doing it. She was living life to the fullest because she was living it like it was her last...I wonder if that's how you remember her?"     Could they decide on a future worth existing in? Her imagination was different, but... after wandering this path for so long, the light they once followed has faded out of view. Imagining anything better, after living so long without it in sight... are there people in the City who could? I don't think I'm one of them.     "I can't tell you. I haven't tried to build one. All I can say is...Probably with more certainty than anyone else here...If you're just worried about surviving in the present. If all you're doing /is/ surviving...All you'll have is an eternity...Of looping... I only knew that woman for a bit...Or...Whatever that was of her...But I think she got that if you wanted to make it to the future, it wasn't about holding on till the end of the story of survival...But finding the short stories of life to live in the moment. I think she had it figured out on that at least."     He could tell Netzach that maybe he should find a distraction in the moment to live for. Or maybe that he could still cling to Carmen's wish if she still believed in it. He imagines that he could say a lot of things right now, words of encouragement. Or prescribe his own thoughts. But...This is an answer, whether right or wrong...That he'll let him decide. Even if that decision ends up being just to follow a certain someone else. Cause at the end of the day, regardless of what's chosen...Whether survival or thriving, the one person he'll be needing to live with is himself...
Touta Konoe	Regardless of what the decision was, that didn't matter. That wasn't why he was here. The reason he was...The reason that he was, is that there's a certain someone with a goal...Her dream. And she's put everything on the line to do so. There are parts he's sure he questions,but even if that was the case more than anything she was fighting her fate and that alone shouldn't be ignored.     So even that brings him to the paining sound of the Jester's tune. Even if it puts him back on the chopping block again. Even if it's only a tiny part, he should. And so, as the others begin to build up their strikes, The black shroud begins to envelope around the Jester just enough to keep its face exposed. It's body slowly but not completely consumed in that darkness as it intended to lodge it where it was. To attempt to keep any further tendrils from protruding out without them being handled from within the fog first...No more acid, no more Enkaphelin, no more statues, just one fist, one kick, and several hundred cuts.
Meika Kirenai	'There's no better feeling than closing your eyes and forgetting just for a bit about how worthless you are!'     When does that ever help? When? It-     The Jester- Netzach's tentacle attack wallops Meika, knocking her to the ground. Enkephalin splatters like poison- which it is. On fabric, on skin, on the clutched-tight notebook was still shoving back into her sports bag. Meika curses, and shakes her hand and arm, as she stumbles back upright and fights to put air back in winded lungs. Gross, gross, gross-     She shudders- it feels weird. Her head spins. Did I get hit that hard..? Opening and closing her eyes doesn't help the ringing at the edge of her hearing. Something starts to be dulled, that Meika can't quite name. It's not really comfortable, at all- not *great*, either, like Netzach's words. Just loose to care about. Inches off of mattering, but any distance at all is enough for there to be a separation. Instead of losing any sort of grip on the traces of magic she uses even untransformed- like her silence, and whispers, and all those tidbits- it's harder not to slip into those, a default state usually resisted.     Quickly, Meika's down- dizzy, stumbling, watching light bend funny as she follows the fight. She's slumped down on the floor, her jacket half-over a shoulder, listening to her own silent heartbeat.     {"I don't think it's hilarious..."} Her words are still audible, whispered like that- even if she's loosely looking at Netzach. {"What's even being rejected- deject- de.. s-strived against, t-to just delay..."}     {"O-oh. I- I get that, maybe. But it just slows it down, and makes it softer than sober. That's a funny word. Foggier. Not forgotten, not gone..."} She's really starting to fade under the drug-splattering blow, losing coherence, and just gives a feeble little gesture of 'whatever'. She'd be a hypocrite at best, to deny that all. 'That's what being human is, right?' 'Feels heavy.'     Love's words echo in Meika's ears. {"I guess it should. It's right if it's harder. Hard things matter, don't they? And it's supposed to."} Far less certainty carries in her whisper, like an admission to her answers having just been read from the rulebook, not born of expertise.     As magic spreads throughought the room, Meika scoots back- just enough to watch Love punt Meika's Cherub familiar across the roam with a nail-shrieking squeal. The magical girl giggles- whispered, in a tone lacking background static at all, it's not quite like a laugh, but it feels close enough.     But even so, it's easy to miss Drop scampering off from where Love's kick landed it, dashing through the spiderwebbing magic, dipping and diving through glows and echoes that are all too familiar. The Cherub is smiling- blankly, unemotionally, as it tilts its head from a pearch and watches the webwork shatter into stacatto hell. It's hard to read the being's expressions as anything but venomously pleased, or vindicated, as Love begins her transformation.
Meika Kirenai	'Is it possible to live in that future without guilt? Only monsters seem to manage that.'     Bleary and intoxicated, staring at that familiar cloud, a vacancy instead of yet another statue, Meika doesn't feel any bit at all more comfortable for what is still- is it just part of her drugged imagination, really? Is it just her mind playing at the edges of that glow, and filling in the details she can't not expect to see? Or is that really what that shape is?     But, bleary and intoxicated, she also doesn't hate staring at it as much as she should. It's silly. It's like phosphenes in the eyes, like pareidolia- it's just a hazy smear, isn't it? It's just something wrong, and weird, in place of-     Is that what's at the end of it all? Do monsters get to breathe easier? Is that why they get to be loved, and- Meika looks down with half-lidded eyes at her fingers, and wiggles them back and forth, as they f-f-flicker at their edges, smearing into the air itself for a moment, a dull, taut expression left on her face.     As the Magical Girl of- the Queen of Hatred finally solidifies in form, Meika watches, close and flat. With the Enkephalin coursing through her system, there's less bitter jealousy to mute, as she sits and tucks her legs close, letting her eyes be half-blinded by the searing flash of the monstrous beam Love shoots. It's a good distraction from loose and muted thoughts. Lights dance in her periphary, unreal and phantasmal and-     Not quite hallucinations, Meika's attention falls to the sparks and explosions of Lilian's onslaught, watching her tearing through defenses again and again to make progress nothing else is. It's hard to tell what flashes and cracks she sees across the air are real, and what are a factor of the Enkephalin, and what might not really be either, but it's horrifying, and gobsmacking, and mind-blankingly hard to parse, as she's seated uselessly by, an observer.     Meika's fingers have scabbed over, by now, from where they tore at the metal lockers, where she picks and bites and scrapes at them- and they ball up the letterman jacket she's been holding onto for security, over and over. She's unsure if she wants to cry, or say something, or nothing, but where everything that should be overwhelming is siphoned out before it can be, Meika can still feel the echo, trying to watch Lilian's frantic execution, of all the gravitas- that this is some form of victory, carved out by the Dame-Commander's sword.     It smears funny in her head, trying to think if a 'thank you', or 'clapping after a movie', or just shutting up is the appropriate, expected course of action, as her heartbeat and breathing slow. Meika isn't sure if she's leaning up against anything, but the thought that does come over her, after this long and awful night, is to lean to her side, and let her eyes drift further closed there on the ground, at the knife's edge of passing out completely.
Captain Hook	Hook slides down the wall. He's spent. The sprained ankle is turning numb from supporting his weight. Numb, like back then, while he delayed the inevitable.      The missiles come out. Hook looks up.      "No. Sorry."      "I already took the step you won't."      Rufus gets in the way of so many of them. But not all of them. Not quite. One skids past the Shinra executive. Will's eponymous hook snaps upwards, sweeping into the first missile. It bounces improbably off the golden implement into another, sending another spiralling into the ceiling. The smoke descends on him slowly. And he can't exactly cover his mouth, can he?      He lent his handkerchief away, after all.      There's a sigh as the smoke filters in. As the feelings come back. The slow, endless nothing on the horizon. Day after day, surrounded by people who don't exist. The hollow laughter of a hollow crew who stop being real when you stop looking at them. Filler noise to keep him occupied. To keep him until the story ended. That's where stories go, in the end. To the end. Didn't he say that? You can't just reject it out of hand. You have to listen.      But he lent away his handkerchief for a reason. It wasn't just an act of self-destructive kindness. It was an act of listening. You don't just listen with your ears. You don't just listen with your brain.      You listen with your heart.      Hook's head thumps back against the wall. "That's not enduring, my lad. That's existing. And it's much, much harder alone."      He shifts against the wall. His eye is still shut. "Existing is unbearable."      "Existing is just waiting for the moment you can't do it anymore."      That's enough to punch through the smoke. Of course he should kill himself. He already did it.      His sigh is intense as he exhales the smoke from his lungs. Can't ever really get rid of those feelings, of that voice. Neverland is drenched in them and Neverland is seeped into who he is, whether he likes it or not. He'll never really be *free* of it because that would make him free of who *he* is, of who was made by it, and of who was saved from it. The better man he is now, such that it is, wouldn't be possible without that Hell.      It's already, and always, dogging his heels. He doesn't need the smoke.      He exhales it into the air and simply waves it aside with the hook hand. "You're much too late, my lad, to be telling me to kill myself. To be telling me I'm worthless."      "I'm a pirate, after all. I take what I please from others because I want it, simple as that, greedy as that."      "And what I want is victory."      "I don't want Carmen's dream. It's not my dream. I barely know her. I chose, of my own free will, to care about Angela, and not anything else in your City. I'm not a hero, lad. I just can't ignore someone trapped in Hell, repeating the endless, meaningless grey days."      "That means you too."      "I can't ignore you, either." Hook can't even stand. "It's not because I'm a good man. Far from it. It's not because you deserve it. It's not something so pointlessly altruistic as that." He says 'altruistic' like it's a swear, like it's a foul taste in his mouth just to think of the idea of *giving* something away. "It's because, if that had been done to me, I wouldn't be here."      "I killed myself and it just didn't take."      "I'm not reaching out a hand to you because you're worth it. You're a pest, and a problem, and a self-professed nihilist having himself a little tantrum to try and feel special for five minutes. You probably are worthless. A lot of people are. A lot of bloody parasites and leeches and garbage, and, worst of all, politicians. People for whom 'worth' is derived by the amount of money in their vault or the feeling of power from standing over others."      "But you're suffering in the grey and I simply can't look away from that with a clean conscience."
Captain Hook	His eye opens. "'Too lazy to give up hope' sounds an awful lot like 'still hoping.'" He can't do any of the physical fighting. A normal man. He just...sits, twisting there. All he can do is talk. "Still hoping for a hand held out. Still hoping for someone to sit and listen. Still hoping for a happy ending."      "So here's a couple of people, spending a lot of effort for someone else, to give them a happy ending, and you've decided the right thing to do is spitefully try and take it away because you won't reach out and try to find your own. You're still hoping someone will give it to you."      Hook's voice reaches a crescendo. "Does this look like someone *handing out happy endings*? Does it look like the Dame Commander, like Miss Soroka, like Sougo and Woz, are just *giving* Angela a happy ending? Are just *passing it out* because she happened to say the right words and hope the right hopes? Does it look like I'm here, at wit's end, trying to guide people through this dreamland haze over something that simple?"      "There's no magic word to make people care about you. You have to keep saying the words over and over, even when it hurts - especially when it hurts. You have to say them in every action you take. You have to bleed for it when you decide to care - even if they don't return it."      "Even if they aren't worth it. And if they aren't worth it, then you stop caring about them, and find someone else to care about."      Hook's head slumps forward on his chest. "Now, if you don't bloody well mind, I've got more important things to do than listen to your self-important pity party. I've a nap to take, a child to help, and a lot of treasure to plunder. So take my hand, or don't. Take the step off the edge, or don't. But make a decision either way, and stop involving everyone else. They'll care if they decide to. And if they don't, you won't be around for it to matter."      "Either way, get on with it, would you?"
Petra Soroka	"That will be enough, Ms. Soroka."     "Er--" Petra gets beaned in the head by a rock launched out from the wreckage of the statue, saved from a concussion by the EGO gift hairpin she's always wearing. "Sorry ma'am. You're right." "I've shut my eyes before. I've hidden from everything. It never works. The world always creeps back in."     As the Jester's outfit continues to unravel around Netzach from Tamamo's magic, Madeleine can practically hear the the miserable, wry smile coming out of the distorted boxbot. "Yep. Ain't it just the worst?" "Your feet drag, with every step. You work harder to *avoid* your duties than the rest of the Sephirah work to *fulfil* them. Despite this, you are needed, and so, whatever your failings, a place has been set at the table for you."     "It'd be nice just to moan 'why me', or 'choose someone else', or 'I never asked for this'." Netzach's eye flicks up to Angela again, and the tendrils attached to the ceiling flex in a weird approximation of a shrug. "But that'd be sorta pathetic. I can't say I don't see her in you. On your good days, don't get me wrong."     As the Jester's clothes come away in tatters, the full shape of Netzach's form comes into view, somehow bigger than the garments had been. The boxbot's own 'mouth' is jammed full of tendrils splitting open the metal slot, and one of his arms is fully consumed by the base of the forest of tentacles that burst through the Jester's chest, trunk thicker around than a person is tall. He's still swaying from the ceiling, and still half-covered by the monochrome outfit, but his eye stares at the ground as the Elites shoot and tear at his tendrils. The Jester's head hangs low too, and its dangling, near-severed neck is a mirror to Netzach's dejected expression. "You can be a person too, Netzach. you can be a magical girl too. You've given up now because Carmen is gone now, but you're still here, Netzach! And even if every day is a struggle, you gotta keep going because... Because that's what life is." "'Too lazy to give up hope' sounds an awful lot like 'still hoping.'" "Too lazy to give up hope-- I'm starting to think... you might be closer to the kind of person who wishes he could hold onto a little bit of it... even when it's stupid!"     Tamamo's light glows bright around the mangled boxbot body, even shining through the seemingly impenetrably dark Jester's clothes. The sunlight is so intense that it seems to push the Jester physically outwards, and in that moment of loosened bonds, the combination of Love's Arcana Slave and Lilian's Cleasanna shreds the Jester entirely away from Netzach. The walls, even in this room, start disintegrating, and rather than static, there's only bleach-stinking concrete behind them. Netzach swings ponderously from the hazy ceiling like a heart hanging from its aortic arches, dripping a steady stream of Enkephalin onto the ground.     "... A magical girl, huh? Yeah, bet you I would've heard that as an insult before meeting you girls." He's obviously winding down, but the fact that he's still like this means there's still some processing left to do in his heart before he's ready to accept it. "Is that really all it is? Knowing how stupid and fucked up it all is, and choosing to shut it out and hope anyways? Mannnn, I think the Enkephalin was easier...."
Petra Soroka	Hibiki punches him in tandem with Sougo kicking him while he's half-seriously whining, and the tendrils in the ceiling finally snap. The broken Sephirah crashes to the ground and rolls from the force of it, coming to a stop on what would be his side, looking down at Hibiki and Sougo. "Netzach... you're acting like you need all that stuff you put into yourself. But we helped the other Sephirah, didn't we? And now they're talking to each other, and getting better, and the odds that they'll escape this place are getting higher every day. Why would you be any different?"     "Y'know, if you all die and the facility resets again, I'm not gonna remember anything-- sorry Angela. It's a free ticket out, really.")] That's all a bit insincere, but it's a necessary preamble for saying the part he reluctantly means out loud. "In that case, guess there's not much point in dragging it down more than I already have." "If you cared about her that much, you should be embarrassed that I got ahead of you. That I know more about her. That she likes me better. You could at least put up a fight."     "I'm more of a 'drowning in deep waters while the light fades above me' type." It's a quip, but he obviously means it a bit too much. The mutated robot twice the size of any of you almost looks like it's small, curled up on the floor as it slowly turns back to concrete. "Don't you want it back? Even if it's different?"     "... But I guess I can't help but give it a shot, can I? No way Carmen would tolerate seeing me wallowing like this." "Then if you can't think of anything yourself, shut up, listen up, and do everything I say. You don't need to think for yourself if that's too painful. All you have to do is go along with me selfishly getting everything I want."     "Loud and clear, Dame Commander." "You have to keep saying the words over and over, even when it hurts - especially when it hurts."     Netzach sits up, and all at once, it's just Records again, and it's just Netzach again. He hauls himself to his feet, and wipes away the residual Enkephalin dripping off of his body. "Even if it's hard, and even if it hurts. It'll be nice to close my eyes and imagine a vision of 'here' that's a bit better, than trying to imagine nothing at all. Maybe Angela's got the right idea, trusting in you all."
Angela	Love transforms back into her humanoid form after. She's a person now. Sometimes she's a quetazacoatl. But she's not an Abnormality any more More than the others, she has made it to ''Person''. And that's how she wants to live, even if it's harder and more hate-filled and she has/gets to kick a cherub periodically. Netzach tells her that he would've seen 'magical girl' as an insult before but Love doesn't take offense. "...Yeah, more or less I guess... But we can't shut out the pain and say it doesn't matter either. Hope is a lot like Enkephalin, you can drown in it. But we wouldn't be able to function without it." She looks at Meika for a moment, she sees her hands, she doesn't know what the future lies for Meika. Or Netzach, even. But she reaches her hand to take hers all the same and... Netzach falls. Angela blinks twice and realizes, in that moment, she almost gave up. She almost gave up everything. She had to, instead, rely on the Commander as always. She takes another breath. She lets another breath out. At least she only screamed in her mind where it's mostly safe. Her mind can be an awful place so long as she is appropriate where it really matters. She straightens, wipes black fluid from her face and eyes as if it had never happened and smooths out her labcoat. Her gaze settles on Netzach for a moment. Somehow, hearing that she can be like Carmen on her good days doesn't feel good either. Maybe there is no good result for her, only evil results. She says, "I am glad you were not killed, there is still more work to be done. But it will be over This is the last time, they promised, so .... Just hang in there a little longer. And I'll hang on even longer." She looks to Chevalier Love. "Thank you for your assistance, but now you should--" She gets an alert and she breathes in sharply. "Go. /Now/." The facility starts to reform to normal. The school facade fades. Agents gradually wake up from the dream and the long night is over. For most, they feel a bit lethargic as if they had slept but didn't really get the benefits of sleep. The Enkephalin reserves are, lets be real here, INSANE. They'll be set for a while. "SEED OF LIGHT GENERATION: 50 PERCENT." An automated voice intones throuhg the speakers. X's own voice follows after.
Angela	"Is it...over? ... Hahh... thanks for all the help. The Warpgate's still up and operational. I definitely don't want to keep you here any longer than necessary and Gebura what are you--Gebura. Gebura, calm down--" The Red Mist doesn't look like she normally does. She is wearing the same armor that she showed over the banter channels, her appearance is entirely humanoid. A mask covers her face entirely. Her red hair burns like flame behind her. Mimicry is in one hand, slung over her shoulder. Her black and red armor glows faintly, like blood. This isn't yet another Meltdown. This is just Gebura, reasonably pissed off. "We done? We done. Vermillion. Come with me." She says. Angela has composed herself. Her breathing is normal. Her tone is measured. She is completely calm. "Gebura. Surely we do not need to do this. She is a member of the Paladins. They can handle--" Gebura interrupts Angela. "This is NOT your jurisdiction. I have been patient, in spite of you bending over backwards for her, but you have set me as Disciplinary and you will respect my position. She has killed our Agents, directly, to say nothing of the mental toll and we nearly lost the entire facility. This is a matter for Disciplinary." Her head turns to Petra. "Petra. Put Meika in a cell. That's an order." Angela frowns. Her eyebrows narrow. "Now hold on--" Gebura interrupts her again. "Do you remember the one thing Petra asked of you when she applied to work here?" "..." Angela doesn't have words for this. She glares for a long moment, but then... She nods once, backing away. "Good." Gebura grunts but now someone else speaks up. "H..hey no way! We came here to RESCUE Meika!" Love protests. "I'm not leaving without Meika--" "I would be perfectly happy ending an Abnormality permanently." Gebura says. "One way to find out if you still qualify as one, really--" This is getting out of hand, rapidly! But X speaks up this time over comes, "N...now hold on, Gebura--" "This is my job, I won't let you tell me no, Manager." "N..no, no, not that. But... Look, the way I see it--we need to check to make sure there isn't still mental corruption, and we've the facilities for it. So--we'll make sure it's SAFE to release her and if she's SAFE we'll do so, okay? You can't complain if we determine it to be safe. It won't be too long, Love, okay?" Love frowns uneasily but Angela turns her own glare over to the former Abnormality. "Go, Love. Live your life. Meika will return to it soon. This is the best I can do for you." "Is this...fine, Gebura?" "...Fine. Deal." And that seems to have settled the matter for Lobotomy Corp.