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Penumbra	=== To whom it concerns === Who I am isn't important. Neither is how I got this information to you. The information is the important part; it always is. More important than anything else, in this Multiverse big enough that it loses itself in its own scope. Read close and read carefully. Sector Zero moves, did you know that? Unification isn't totally random. There's a center and an edge; that's why it's a sector. Like magma from underground, or meltwater down a mountain, it all flows outwards. Some faster than others. Some haven't moved at all yet. But that's how the Superplanet grows. There's a nerve cluster, where the Warpgates spread, and worlds carry them out into the far reaches, like pollen. But not every Warpgate connects to every other Warpgate. You know that. Even if they're joined together at the sides, a space vast enough for so many worlds means that distance and direction is a laughable concept. What matters is what leads where; which nerves connect where; which branches split and join. It's not uniform. It never has been, but especially not now. There are clusters. Commonalities. Sides. You're going to Side Five, because I've called it that and I know your type. Consider this one free. You'll owe me for the second. There are things out there happening that you don't know about. People doing things. Getting ideas. No matter who you belong to, you don't see all of it. In the past, years ago, there was a period where that wasn't the case. Where the mass of shotgun allegiances and lines of bent knees got bloated enough --sprawled out like hot vomit on the road-- that there wasn't an unstained corner to get away from it. It didn't last long before it broke. We think there's a reason for that. There are others who disagree. Maybe we all could have come together, in a better time and place, but when it's the past and future of the Multiverse in the balance, you don't make compromises. We split up, and then our sides split up. Some of us parted ways with nods and handshakes. Others didn't. You're going to deal with the second kind. For their own good, ours, and yours. Side Five is where that disaster zone, left by those two beacons of ego and hubris, are headed; in a tectonic sense. The Maw. The Crater. They've slid off the peak, and where that scar goes, the damage goes with it. Side Five is where the Warpgates all connect to somewhere unstable. Mostly just a little bit. A fluctuation on the advance seismograph. A flutter when someone lays brick on plasteel on adamant. What do you do about that but ignore it? You can be a little crazy. Peel it back and look at the machinery. Chase the smell of blood for where the sausage is made. Then being a little crazy means going a little mad. Then you make something called the Unified Tower --that's where you're headed, by the way-- where you play scholar kings in your spreadsheet fortress and think about stopping it. Or you can be a little crazier and embrace the idea. That the learning, the laying, the stacking brick on brick, is what stresses the ground. You can buy the idea that the natural state of the Multiverse --the only release valve-- is the fight, and it'll crack and buckle under the pressure without it. Then, you call yourselves the Tempest, and you make a disagreement into a fight, and a fight into a slaughter. I'll trust you'll do right by yourselves. I'm not about to tell you what to do. We don't make offers if we don't come out ahead either way. === Missive self-terminates in thirty.
Penumbra	Whatever Side Five is, the coordinates are clear. Records available put it somewhere in that shimmering silver sea of molten unifications, and the sprues that they sometimes leave behind, of which no proper maps are ever kept. But the Gates take you to solid ground. Enough to stand on at least. To move. To look. To read. Maybe even to fight. You've been lead straight to one, after all, though not straight into the thick of it. The Gate deposits you on a fragment of who knows where, floating in the soft white sea that lims the horizon in the distance, before which spreads a gleaming expanse of floating ocean, roughly lapping the pale beach to the arbitrary south and sloshing with some violence against the dark, jagged granite to the arbitrary north, where this island steadily rises into a towering cliffside. Lush green coats the winding jacknife trails that gradually escalate from a low, semi-tropical valley, punctuated by stark black stonefaces and sheer drops, standing down like castle walls. Formations of odd, glittering crystal occasionally jut through the ground, like broken bone through skin. It's large enough to support a small city, but not nearly so populated. Mainly sprinkled with tiny complexes, like small treatment plants, storage houses, or heavy equipment workshops, interlinked with spidery silver pipes and thrumming, translucent wires, it gives off the impression of a seaside observatory or Arctic science base. Only rough roads run between its tiny compounds, clusters of modest barracks, and individually sized airfields, all the way down to a sheltered dock of a few dozen yacht-sized seacraft and a single small tanker in a cove at the base of the cliff. An eclectic mishmash of elegant wooden hulls with esoteric metal frames, bristling radio masts and steam steadily issuing from the hum of fusion generators cooling with seawater. Those road also run up to the tower that completes the image. Five times the size of a light house and broad as a castle keep, slightly diminishing in diameter as it rises, ringed by spiral ramps of translucent, floating steps, and cable rails. Sheer walls of gleaming steel and glass sit on foundations of rune-scrawled stone choked in fast-growing island moss and creepers, bright lights flickering at its peak, filling the airwaves with information traffic, even whilst a faintly visible shimmering dome splits the diffused light of the Soft Expanse's white sunset into a rainbow around it. Those roads also dip inside the cliffs, into shallow ramps and fortified tunnels, reinforced with concrete and starship metals, no doubt entering the many pillboxes and barricades that litter the area; the least recent additions to the burning battlefield you're suddenly paying a visit to. Hundreds of craters dot the beach and tropical valley from buried mines, short range missile strikes, and smouldering arcane fireball residue. Barricades of broken metal, shredded monowire, cracked mithril and crackling arcane force lie vacated by whatever men tried to hold them perhaps only minutes ago, cut straight down the middle by a violent advance. Paths up the cliffs remain blocked by a second wave of blast gates and walls of force, holding firm after what looks like a very recent tactical retreat. The beach is still under scattered attack from defenders for whom the fight hasn't rolled into yet. Powerful blasts of arcane lightning occasionally strike the beach head from the skies above, stitched together with the shriek of descending artillery, and the crackle and snap of mixed shooting. Excavated firing windows in the exposed rock faces blaze with gunfire and the occasional bright laser beam or blast of weaponized qi. Covered positions buried in the foliage and stacked behind magically shaped terrain formations and instant plastic cement spit blurred smatterings of arrows, darts, and tech grenades.
Penumbra	Electronic traffic is extremely high, and targeting beams are visible everywhere on alternate frequencies, owing to hundreds of turrets, sensors, aerial drones, and automated heat blobs in the jungle. The magical background a Chernobyl-esque soup of conflicting energies, both from spells recently cast, and magic being maintained by immaculately cultivated leylines beneath the earth, all clustered around the bonfire of energy that is the tower. Outside of the wreckage of dozens of drones and combat golems, the beach is currently occupied with just four individuals. Two men and two women, forming just a single combat-ready squad. A blonde pointman in heavy, knightly powered armour, holding a vanguard point against the incoming fire with a giant shield, a spear braced behind himself and a shimmering barrier of interlocking hexagons he has created. A redheaded woman in a tactical jacket crouched atop a rocky protrusion behind him, laying a long rifle over his shoulder, which she is using to sight and shoot the second line of defensive emplacements still suppressing the beach. A white-haired man in grey and gold robes still standing by the waves, holding aloft a long staff or wand, currently projecting a six-sided array of overlapping magical circles, drawing in immense amounts of the island's energy. And a black-haired woman holding an overly long, single-edged sword, clad in vaguely martial robes, rushing up the beach under the redhead's zone of fire, deflecting projectiles as she goes, and vaulting into the first row of embankments. They've arrived not by the same Warpgate as you, apparently, but by an airship that currently rests on the waves, old-fashioned in look, little more than a fanciful gear-and-lever dirigible, but ostensibly protected by some manner of shield that absorbs the occasional stray bullet or bolt. What stands out is the state of the squadron's gear. Each central item of their kit maintains no cohesively solid shape, instead arranged out of several snow-white shards of pristine marble, suspended in the broken, abstract silhouette of a weapon, shod with grips and fittings of night black wood, shot through with veins of smouldering fire, tangled with still-growing white leaves, vines, or blooms. These are the only things that unify the group aesthetically; more than can be said for the defenders. Those defenders, meanwhile, have yet to send a single aid request or distress transmission. The tower maintains complete radio silence. The ships remain moored. The sleek personal spacecraft and chunky old VTOLs remain grounded. There is no sign of human activity from their side in the open; not so much as blood on the beach.
Hesinca	HESINCA'S POCKET NETHERWORLD - THE MAIL ROOM - X TIME AGO "We don't get mail here," says Hesinca. "This place doesn't connect to any post offices. I'm pretty sure this room is only here as a joke." And yet there's the letter, in bright ansi colors, in the single cubby hole marked 'Hesinca' in the mail room. "Chase the smell of blood for where the sausage is made, dood," says the freshly and hastily appointed Mail Prinny, reading the letter for her. "Sounds like your sorta thing, dood." "It all sounds Human to me," says Hesinca. "Tempest, scholar kings, whatever. So here's what we're gonna do..." She claps her hands together. "We're gonna go find something important, and break it." And then the letter blows up, taking the Mail Prinny with it. --NOW-- The entrance to the pocket netherworld appears next to the warpgate - a glowing floor tile that disgorges a centaur demon plus a few dozen cloth penguin things, all in quick succession. "... There. There's the tower they were talking about," says Hesinca, pointing at the obvious tower. "Scent of blood, dood." "Where the sausage is made, dood." "It looks like it won't be easy to get into, dood." "You let me worry about that," says Hesinca, confidently. "Oh, also, there's people on the beach under attack, maybe we should go help them, doods?" asks one of the prinnies. "I mean, dood, it'd just be the right thing to do?" There's a beat, and then the assembled squadron all starts laughing. "Oh - you crack me up. No, of course not, but let's go loot their corpses on the way back. Let's move!" The Hesinca Squad takes the most direct path, charging up the main road leading to the tower...!
The Janitor	In a locale as surreal and misfit as this, it's hard to stand out. Jane Doe manages it anyway, not through competing to be louder than the aesthetic cacophany, but precisely through her silently nauseating blandness. Here she wears no disguise; just a gray flat cap and a gray boilersuit. Her presence feels like an out-of-place background NPC. How long has she been sitting on that pillbox? Hard to say. A half-eaten ham sandwich is clutched in her hand as she watches the battle on the beach, eyeing the combatants for some ineffable quality. The bullets and magical artillery don't unsettle her composure in the least, even when ricocheting slugs come close enough to almost graze her hair. Finally she finishes with her impromptu lunch, stands up, and turns around to face the tower. Her shoulders roll with an easy crackle. It's time to get to work.
Guzma	Guzma got a strange message. It was strange enough that he immediately turned off the VCR, leaped off the couch, and decided who he could bring. He wasn't sure about bringing the trio into something this hectic and unknown, especially after last time... So he brought Gladion. The two darkly-dressed men, one an adult and one in his mid-teens, step across the beach. The technology is...astounding. It's not unified, very different - must be very Multiversal. It makes sense. This was about the Multiverse, wasn't it? Guzma wasn't sure exactly what to do, but he was more perceptive than many would give him credit for. His eyes spotted that the assailants had drawn no blood, because there was no clear human presence to make bleed. Perhaps this was a war against weird robots. Perhaps what he was about to do next was impulsive based on not wanting to sit around asking questions in a battlefield. He made up his mind solely based off the human element. "Vikavolt. Zap Cannon." The Pokemon was released from its ball, and the weird yellow floating bug lifted itself through the air. It started charging energy, and then- a blast straight at one of the artillery emplacements, the first one it could find or sense via sound and smell. As it fired, Guzma kept moving, not wanting to be sitting duck for the traps. Meanwhile, Gladion ran across the beach as fast as he could. These were Elites, right? He released Lycanroc, the edgy night wolf, from the Pokeball, and had it move. At first, the assailants might think this is an attack, until Lycanroc moves to swipe one of the tower's attacks out of the way, Gladion pushing up towards them. "You don't know us, but you're gonna. My boss is gonna help you get inside there, and in exchange, you're gonna help us figure out why we got told about this. Got it?" He's like, 14, but he's still making demands. Guzma probably put him up to it.
Maksim Messerglas	The information is the important part; it always is. Maksim has been thinking about what to do with all of this for the duration of his trip over. The carriage ride was hectic, uncomfortably full of jostling and bouncing, cries from the man driving the horses through the Warpgates drowned out by the sussurating discomfort of his own thoughts. The other silent occupant of the vehicle sits just as still, almost statuesque, preparing in his own devout sort of way. Maksim wouldn't have responded if he'd tried to engage him in conversation anyway. "We've arrived," the driver -- Dismas, the roguish fellow in the long coat -- calls. He pounds on the roof. "I don't know what to make of it." The door swings open. The armored crusader steps outside. Reynauld looks around, scanning the immediate vicinity for danger. "We should not be here," he says, firmly. "This place is mad." Dismas dismounts. He shades his eyes with one hand. "Can't say you're wrong. Can't say I want to get near those folks on the beach, either." "Then we will not." Footprints appear in the dirt, a third set without a visible body attached. "The Tower. What we want is likely in there." "What we want," echoes Reynauld. "And that is, lord?" Seconds pass without an answer. Dismas shakes his head and leads the way, Reynauld falling into step a moment later.
Tomoe	Tomoe had as of late focused on affairs on her homeworld. Game zones were expanding, more people were gaining Aguma abilities. She had a lot on her plate. yet this message caught her attention to the point it got her off her world. It was strange and it concerned her it sounded like more Ghosts of the old war coming back to haunt things if she understood it or something that may have predated them all. There was only one way to find out so here the towering Salamander was, arriving at this Side Five. It wasn't what she was expecting either. The strange land, she took note of the coast and the various complexes that existed here. Just what the heck was this place? It seemed the fighting here was far from over as well as there were signs of activity on the beach. "What is this place?" This was some craziness Tomoe had not seen on this scale in a very long time. From the letter, she had some idea of who might be the attackers and the defenders. However, since she as pretty much a solo operation today? Tomoe is going to spread her wings and start trying to perform some Recon of the area to get a better view of things. There could be some prime salvage to get if she was lucky or even contacts. She's not sure what the hell is going on right now and is going to be somewhat cautious about just picking a side right out of the gate or even picking a side at all. So she's off in the skies looking to get a better view of the island and what's going on seeking out possible magical or tech salvage from his mess or even to just get a better idea of what's going on.
Tamamo no Mae	"Well, this is a fine mess." Tamamo mutters, going over that missive in her head, "Side Five huh..." the landscape is definitely interesting to this Caster, the tail sways behind her curiously, scratching the back of her ear in a bit of curiosity and confusion. "Impressive tower... wreckage everywhere, golems and drones, wonder what caused all this wreckage here." there's a minor sigh as she looks around. The centaur seems to be on the way towards the tower. Then there's a strange person... and then Guzma. The caster-fox saunters up with Gladion, at least that one seems to want to get some information. Following behind she smiles, just to back up the smaller one making the demands here. "See, we don't mean any harm, just here to ... get some information and get going, figure out what this place is, where we are and what you're wanting to do and what we should do." she nods. "So, we help you, you help us, it's what they call a 'win win' situation. Right little one?"
Damocles	The structure which Damocles resides once had a name, but it has been long lost to time, and Damocles refers to it now only as 'the tower.' Massive in that special way Imperium technology tends to be, the Tower is remarkable even by ancient human standards, because it exists within the Warp itself, protected by a stable field of reality that keeps the Chaos at bay. The base only has one human inhabitant, Damocles himself, who resides in a tiny corner of the Research wing. Everything else is sealed off, and quite overrun with daemons. Because of its obscure nature, Damocles is quite surprised one morning to be greeted by the voice of an automated computer. "GREETINGS ADMINISTRATOR. YOU HAVE ONE UNHEARD MESSAGE." Damocles stares at the computer, dumbfounded for a moment, before he's greeted by another, much more familiar voice. Oooooh, I wonder what THAT could be? Some time later, Damocles arrives in the valley. The Chaos Sorcerer isn't used to traveling via warp gates, having the advantage of the Warp to move around in, however today has been a day full of new experiences, and he found himself quite unable to chart a path via the Warp this time around. The challenge only make the search for answers more important to the sorcerer however, and so he soldiered on, through the winding veins and cracks of reality that connect worlds, until he made his way, at last, to this destination. The glare of residual magic is nearly blinding to his arcane senses, and upon first arriving, he had to take a minute just to adjust his mind to handle this glow. He had heard about places in the Warp where the chaotic energies were particularly strong, blaring hotspots of magic that glowed like suns even within the realm of magic, and though he'd never seen one, that immediately comes to mind here. The sparse inhabitants and pitched battle both stand out. How long has this battle been going on? And what's here that's worth fighting over? There are so many questions that the sorcerer barely knows where to start. However, the battle seems most important, or at least most immediate. Given the situation, his usual method of boldly warping into the fray will likely only get him a lot of weaponsfire, so instead he takes a short teleportation hop to the edge of the region, and carefully approaches. He attempts to move in from the side, hoping to attract little attention until he has a better grasp of the situation.
Robin Sundance	War. He has never known war, nor read of it in any detail. The books, the history, that was permitted did not speak of war and conflict in anything but cruel tones. They were conflicts born of human foolishness, the books said, conflicts born of human weakness that proved why they needed someone to bring them together. And yet he knows this is war. One look at this place from his perch on one of the treetops, out of sight and out of mind, tells him so. He is not unfamiliar with violence, neither magical nor mechanical, neither wand nor weapon. He is not unfamiliar with the powerful exercising their power against the weak. The turrets spinning wildly are incapable of putting up a fight. The men and women are strong enough to handle the whole affair alone. Mm. A twitch of the lip. That, then, was the point of entry. Draw their attention, and silence the guns with the knowledge that someone who might be an ally showed up. Then, perhaps, he could work on other things. Yes. That was the right answer. The white-haired young man backflips off the tree. His rainbow scarf leaves a trail of color behind as he springs along, keeping just out of sight. He hits the targetting beams. Turrets start going off. Aerial drones start pouring down fire. It's like watching ballet. The young man simply sweeps through them all. He dances through hails of machine-gun fire, leading them on a merry chase. He ducks through bombardments, rolling and weaving under smoke and flame and explosive. And then he vaults over the squad of four and lands in front of them with a sweeping bow. "Bonjour, mes amis, and happy annee~!" The young man straightens and tweaks the earring in his left ear with a finger, brushing it in front of him. His smile is dazzling. He's spinning a keyring in one hand. It has some odd-looking keys on it. "Now, mes amis, I confess I do not know what is happening here. And that is troublesome, and I would love to pluck the answers from your fingers. But!" He turns and walks to the side, the jingling keys from his belt whirling as he avoids a shot from the redhead's long rifle. "I imagine to get answers from both of you, I must stop one of you, oui?" He tilts his head backwards at the tower. "And so many people are going to stop them that I feel you may be lonely." A sweeping bow. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Robin Sundance. I have twenty-four years of age, and I love flowers." A pair of roses land in the sand in front of the two ladies. Another dazzling smile. And then he holds up what looks like a vault door, and waggles it in front of him. "And one more thing." The vault door snaps onto his waist. A belt grows around him. He holds up the keyring, and, carefully, picks up a blank-looking, but ornate, golden key. The key slides into the side of the vault door. "Transform!" A hand snaps across the grip. The vault door spins, whirling furiously. The belt sings. B-B-B-B-BURGLAR!! The man spreads his arms as armor forms around him. Two headpieces, equal parts antennae and key-shape. Red-and-black armor with highlights of gold. A rippling black bottom-cape, like the ends of a trenchcoat. And, at last, the eyes, locking into green, with a black domino mask wrapping around the bulbs. Robin Sundance takes a bow, one hand behind his back, the other sweeping in front. "Masked Ranger, Thief." He stands and points at the four. "An advance notice for you all! I am here to steal back peace!" A grappling-hook chain appears in his hand. He whirls it idly in hand, walking confidently forward towards the squad head-on.
Doctor Strange	It's with his usual weary sort of deadpan that the Sorcerer Supreme arrives. Stepping out, not from a warpgate, but from a burning orange hole in reality, he emerges behind the white-haired robed man. There isn't much time--there hardly ever is. Already, people are making mad dashes to get a piece of the action. Or to blow it up. There is a hand extended. A scarred, trembling hand. In his robes and cloak, "Your boss doesn't know what he's getting into," says Strange to Gladion. "And I know that because I don't know what we're getting into. If I don't know, he definitely doesn't. You might wanna figure out what these guys are about, before you go offering to help them. Matter of fact..." Strange makes the sign of the Eye, opening the brass amulet around his neck and bathing himself in green light. While the Strange of the present converses with the wizard, the Strange of the future makes an effort, through space-bending by entering the Mirror Dimension of this place and exiting out through the other side, to breach the tower and speak with its inhabitants; failing that, perhaps just using the Sling Ring, or even rendering himself immaterial to pass through in spirit form. The Present!Strange, in the mean time, speaks up to the wizard. "Okay--so that I don't have to do ten times more work--and so that these guys," he says, gesturing to Tamamo no Mae, Robin and Gladion, "Don't agree to something that might somehow make all of this worse--I know, generally, what you want. What I want to know is why you want it."
Eryl Fairfax	The missive reached Eryl's desk as soon as it was received. He poured over it, trying to figure out whom had written it, and what they speak of. The 'vomit' was clearly the previous superfactions. The sender clearly had a low opinion of them. But they are gone now, and what has replaced them lacks knowledge of this 'Side Five.' Things are happening there outside of Paladin awareness. But it does not seem like a request for help. More... a call to action. To do something, be it aid either side, or destroy both. Eryl stands upon the island in the blinding sea, looking out at the war before him. Original Face immediately starts pinging the world around them. The great spire seems the perfect match for 'Unified Tower.' And those attempting to reach it, those spoiling for a fight, must be the 'Tempest.' Four of them stand upon the beach, one of whom is clearly of a magical persuasion. Strange practically reads his mind, and asks if Eryl wants him to open dialogue. "I can only hope you two will hit it off. A tad presumptuous I know, but if your common fields do not do it, I'm sure your winning personality shall." Nanoha takes to the skies and the Grandmaster hails her. "Stay low Takamachi. Do all you can to not fall victim to anti-air fire." The roar of turret fire is everpresent, and he'll not lose someone to a fight that is not yet theirs. Original Face is pouring over the information war happening, and finds something of note. There is no broadcast coming from the tower. Targeting solutions, yes, but no dialogue. They are not interested in negotiations with the Tempest (if that is who they are.) But how about with a third party? THIS MESSAGE IS INTENDED FOR THE TOWER UPON THE CLIFF. IT IS BEING BROADCAST BY ERYL FAIRFAX, THE BESUITED MAN BEFORE THE WARPGATE ON THE BEACH. I AM THE LEADER OF A LARGE ORGANISATION IN A REGION OF THE MULTIVERSE BEYOND THIS ONE. I AM ACCOMPANIED BY SEVERAL SUBORDINATES. WE ONLY WISH TO UNDERSTAND THE STATE OF AFFAIRS HERE. I REQUEST AN OPEN DIALOGUE, AND A PROMISE THAT WE WILL NOT BE A SUBJECT OF AGGRESSION. THIS MESSAGE WILL REPEAT ON ALL FREQUENCIES UNTIL A RESPONSE IS RECEIVED. As promised, the message is blasted, unencrypted, in multiple languages on every available frequency. Those of the Tempest will also be able to hear it, and answer should they so choose.
Nanoha Takamachi	-- Some Time Ago -- Captain Nanoha Takamachi sits within her small office, waving her hand softly as she scrolls through the messages on her holoscreen. Fairly standard for the most part. Reports from other TSAB departments, to which she is only tangentially related. She files those away for later review. Updates from the Paladins network. A quick glance through them, picking up on key details, before they get archived. Nanoha never deletes anything. Just in case. A message from Vivio. She's going to be late for dinner, an extended training session. That's fine, Nanoha can adjust her evening schedule easily enough. A message in the list catches Nanoha's eye. Primarily because the From field is oddly blank. Nanoha considers for a moment... She then moves her finger to press on the message. Nanoha's eyes dart from side to side as she reads. Some mild confusion, combined with bits of curiosity, grows on her face. Nanoha's eyes then go wide and she quickly says, "Trace that message!" The small red gem floating beside her flashes, emitting a chime. Seconds pass... And the message vanishes from Nanoha's screen. The gem chimes again, <Trace inconclusive. It is not local.> Nanoha had figured that much out on her own. She leans back in her chair, pondering the message's words. She suspects she wasn't the only one to receive this... Which means things are likely to get busy soon. Nanoha glances at the coordinates now displayed on her screen... Looks like dinner might be a little more delayed after all. -- Now -- Nanoha steps out of the warpgate into the region known as Side Five. She's already clad in her combat dress, staff in hand. She glances around at the sight of the battlefield. It's incredible just how much damage has been done, how much broken equipment litters the area. It seems like they missed the majority of the fight, but still there are some left in the battle. Looking at their equipment, they seem out of place with each other, yet also clearly aligned. And strange squad formation. But the time to act is now. The battle still rages, however apparently reduced in intensity. Already announcing her intentions to her fellow Paladins, Nanoha's feet slowly leave the ground as she lifts up into the air. The Aerial Mage is of course aware of the weapons fire and spells rushing over their heads, which is why she doesn't intend to go too high. But she's confident she can maneuver low enough while beginning to scout out their surroundings. They need more information about where they are and what's happening around them. Nanoha can gather that from the air, while she leaves her allies to deal with the isolated squad. Trusting that the information they learn will be passed on to her. It's in the air that Nanoha quickly spots Tomoe, the winged elite standing out amongst what is mostly flying artillery and falling spells. She doesn't recognize her, though a quick visual comparison against known elite by Nanoha's Device brings up a name and some basic information. Thankfully not a threat, it seems. Nanoha briefly alters her flight path to bring her close to Tomoe, to which she offers, "Be careful. There's still a lot of weapons fire flying around up here."
The Janitor	As Jane Doe takes a leisurely walk towards the tower, her path crosses with Damocles'. Five-foot-six, deeply average, flat cap and black bangs hiding her eyes. There's no flinching away at his imposing presence; no tension or guardedness. She almost comes close enough to bump his shoulder, if he doesn't swerve first. "Excuse me," she says in passing. Hesinca's path, rather than crossing, is parallel to her own. The Normal Human Being trudges alongside the centaur and the demon-penguins without so much as a sidelong glance, a plastic water bottle held loosely in her hand in lieu of any weapon. Her eyeless gaze remains fixed on the Tower.
Hesinca	Hesinca pauses. (In her attention/consideration, she doesn't pause her advance.) "You," she says, pointing at gray ansi Jane Doe. "Hey, you." "You want to be a minion?"
Tamamo no Mae	Tamamo looks towards Strange, "Neat trick, perhaps you have a nice point, but sometimes, being agressive with the help gets more immediate help." a pause, "Such as what your Paladins are doing." the fox gives an innocent-ish smile before turning back to the four and Gladion. "I'd appreciate your assistance if you can work with us... magical sir."
Archer EMIYA	Archer is no stranger to weirdly passive aggressive comments about the state of things made to jab into someone's side. At least it comes off as passive aggressive. Maybe he's simply projecting, but it's definitely why he's interested in the contents of the message that was received. In any case, the moment they're through the warpgate, the group is instantly greeted with a giant mess. He could go on about how this is just his luck, but given the need to MOVE, he's already moving, a bow materializing in his hand in a flash of green as he looks for a decently high vantage point. Helping one side is really what they should be doing, playing both sides never works. However, that's what he's been tasked with doing, and that's what's going to happen. Even if he's doing it in his own, strange way. "I am the bone of my sword." A drill-like sword manifests into his free hand in another flash, the weapon being nocked into the bow. As he pulls back the string, the sword begins twisting itself, becoming thinner and more streamlined. There's palpable tension in the surrounding air, before he finally lets go. "Caladbolg." The 'sword' goes flying through the air loudly, smack dab in the middle of the battlefield between the two opposing parties. It's not aiming for group in particular, but the massive explosion as it impacts the ground and devastates the area is hopefully enough to deter both sides. Archer has his doubts, so he takes this time to load up his bow again.
Robin Sundance	Caladbolg hits almost directly behind him. The massive explosion sends a shockwave around Masked Ranger Thief as he straightens. The coattrails on the end of his armor ripple around him. He puts two fingers to his head and gives a little salute at Guzma and the others. "I invite you, mes amis, to test my resoudre with your own!"
Cantio	The missive is nothing of the sort Cantio's seen before. She's seen vague terrorist threats, and she's seen crazy internet ramblings. This, though... Something about this strikes a little too close to crazy, but without hitting that tryhard sort of crazy that would just have her dismissing it or, even worse, leaving it somewhere that someone at home would find it and turn it into an international incident. This one looks like it's worth investigating, and she's made sure to pack her things up neatly before arriving at the coordinates given for 'Side Five'. Her first impression is that it's just another compound, perhaps a research complex, but she wouldn't have come out for just that. The idea of being 'a little crazier' has already wormed its way into her mind, and she wupes some sweat off her forehead while pushing depeer into the territory, keeping her head down while keeping her eyes on the fighting on the beach so as to not get plinked by a stray shot. She sees the squad of four, fighting against the far more numerous robot menace. Rather than moving to join the squad and those Elites closest to them (including her allies), she moves instead to approach the more robotic side directly. Picking one of the artillery emplacements at random, she pulls out a number of drones to float around her in an attempt to look like she might almost be on their side. "Hold your fire! What's the situation here? Is this your territory?" She speaks through the drones, apparently also trying to sound like she's not hostile yet. Worst case scenario, she can use them as cannon fodder if she can't get them to not try and shoot the crap out of her while confirming their willingness to fire on anyone. If she can get within a lunge's range without being fired at, however, she moves on to stage two: Trying to look like she's just standing around and asking questions while one of her drones seeks out weaknesses in their programming, trying to probe for information on how they function or who they're programmed to defend.
The Janitor	Jane doesn't turn her head to look at Hesinca. Instead, she holds out a small rectangular piece of paper- a business card. Clean and Doe, the Custodial Firm Residential Cleansing, Circumstantial Bleaching, Crime-Scene Scrubbing, and Assorted Disposals Contact via 251.113 frequency, or via private communicator for greatest discretion. Rates negotiable. We take care of messes. Call us. After pausing for a few moments so that can be read, she clarifies in her desolate voice: "No. Freelancer."
Tomoe	Tomoe has heard Nanoha's voice before on the global comms nad is aware she's a Paladin when she's messaged. "Don't worry I intedn to do so, I'm here on my own business I amdit but I'm not spoiling for a fight with the Paladins if that makes you feel any better. The name is Tomoe by the way."
Hesinca	"Well too bad, because I'm not hiring minions," says Hesinca automatically, biting on sour grapes with no hesitation. "So ha." Then she takes the card, actually looks at it, and quietly slips it into her wallet.
Tamamo	She probably shouldn't be here. Not without her knight, nor the knight of her origin. Either would be welcome presences to stand somewhat behind, looking out at, if in smaller scale than most, a war. Some particulars of the message hadn't sat well with her. She's here because she'd been called, and because her curiosity could not quite be contained, but still, she shouldn't have. Maybe, she should turn back. Could she? No. It's too late for that. She's already seen what's started. Now she has to see the rest. There's already a woman of vulpine character on the beach. That one is a Caster, and this one is not, though some confusion might be forgiven, for the sense of fashion is very close. That remains true for only another moment, before Tamamo no Mae, the bunrei of the Sun summoned in a certain remnant of the United Kingdom, shifts her appearance into something more noticeably distinct. There's no Tokyo Metropolitan Police Force in... most Earths, actually, either 'yet' or 'anymore,' and it may not be wholly accurate to any, but it's enough if it gets across the general impression of a uniform. The kind of person who wears a tiny, navy blue cap. There is, at least, someone resembling a knight, here, if not yet a friendly one. Perhaps she can do something about that. She can at least act friendly, herself. For the moment, she holds back too much of her 'presence,' avoiding the sort of dangerous, mind-altering state that coming close to the unveiled Sun can bring. She moves right up to the armored, shield-and-lance wielder (and the sniper, incidentally), and subtly probes with her arcane senses for anything that might react should she see need to cast a Charm a moment later. "Oh, yes, please excuse us. It cannot be helped that your war has been interrupted. Might you quickly explain your side of the matter? It would be only to your advantage to get in the first word, no?" Should it become necessary, she has a variety of available defenses, her mirror included.
Doctor Strange	Strange regards Tamamo with a flat expression. "'My Paladins' are, in order, scouting, firing a warning shot--which I ordered and will personally take responsibility for if either of these groups is upset by that--and exercising their judgment to find a peaceful resolution to this, also on my orders." He points a scarred, trembling finger in Archer's direction. "That, yeah, you can construe that as aggressive. Why? Because what I don't want--and what you guys also shouldn't want, given your bottom line--is for this to be a running game of grab-ass to a finish line that we don't understand and potentially can't undo." He frowns archly, his hand lowering after Caladbolg is loosed. "I promise that even if we take our time, there will be plenty of treasure chests, commemorative bobbleheads and natural resources for you guys no matter what happens. We're not here for material gain. That's not our MO. We're just trying to make sure that events play out here in a way that doesn't set the whole circus on fire." He cocks his head. "Did you hear about that, by the way?" Beat. "It was in tents."
Nanoha Takamachi	Nanoha keeps her eyes glancing over the terrain below. Meanwhile her Device maps out the island and the things the two have been able to see so far. Though as Tomoe introduces herself and expresses no desire to fight, Nanoha turns her head to look at the other flyer. It's always nice to meet someone who doesn't want to fight from the outright. Nanoha gives Tomoe a friendly smile, "Nanoha. Nice to meet you." Nanoha notices that Tomoe is being vague about her intentions here. She certainly has the right to. Still, it makes Nanoha curious. So she offers up, "That's good to hear. Naturally we Paladins are here to investigate and consider if action needs to be taken. But if your own goals are not particularly problematic, we'd be happy to help if we can." Well, Nanoha certainly. She finishes, "I'm sure we can both benefit from cooperating?"
Cantio	And then Caladbolg explodes behind her. Cantio turns her head slowly to look at the explosion, sweating anxiously at the size of the explosion as well as the fact that she could have easily been caught up in that blast if she was just a moment or two slower. Little miracles. Clearing her throat, she turns back to the emplacements, still looking for some kind of 'face' or at least 'responding box'. "S-so... As I was saying. Can you tell me the situation from your side? My companions and I might be able to assist." She's not lying if she does't say who she'd be assisting.
Tamamo no Mae	Tamamo's expression falls flat. "You're right, but.." she looks at the explosion, shakes her head, "Archer..." there's a sigh, "No, you're right, but the more info we get, the better everyone off is, no?" another pause, "Ah, who said we were here for material gain ourselves, sometimes the assumption is we're curious about things as well. I presume you got a strange letter as well about a Side Five?" "I'm here to research this, to figure out what this is for, and if it helps the Concord, great. If it helps me and my Husband, even better." There's a noticable look at the second vulpine character approaching. Was... that her? "Greetings to you, my fellow fox eared lady." before she turns back towards the group of four. "Oh, and Doctor. Not /everyone/ from the Concord is out to play grab-ass with resources."
Tamamo	Uniformed Tamamo gives a nod to Caster. There's no apparent brim of her cap to touch, just resting between the fox's ears, so that's not part of the gesture. As a disguise, this would definitely be a failure. For her part, she's leaving alone the others present. Strange seems to have that handled, anyway. A brim would have been useful as Tamamo instead shades her eyes with a hand at the (not so) sudden explosion from Archer's... sword.
Maksim Messerglas	Maksim is suddenly glad he's invisible, because nobody can see him removing his earpiece, looking at it in utter stupefaction, shaking his head, and putting it back in. Sometimes...
Tomoe	Tomoe keeps to the skies and she's scouting around and she thinks as Nanoha talks her up a bit. "Did any Paladins get a strange letter about this place? Part of why I'm here it sounds like the ghost of the old forever war. I want to know what up with that when it comes to the multiverse and how the sausage is made? That has my concern, given the multiversal bard and honestly, maybe I can find out what's going on with my world. Or at least more information on why it's going Digital." She's opened up a bit more to Nanoha and seems to be willing to for the moment work with her. "I'll doubt I'll get in the way of what you're here for." Well she opened up a bit more at least.
Penumbra	For those attempting to approach the tower directly, any mind of approaching the eccentric edifice, at its imposing place at the peak of the island, just like any other mission, will fly out the window the moment the first round of high explosives lands on them from on high, with scarcely a split second's warning. Bullets and railgun slugs tear the acrid smoke to tatters, like putting holes through target paper. An enormous, roaring beam of magical energy sweeps lengthwise across the bottom approach, erupting into a wall of blistering energy that physically hurls backwards concrete barricades with the strength of the backwave. Razor sharp arrows and spikes feather through the falling, excavated earth, carrying deadly poison and lethal shocks. There is an immense surplus of defenses. Far larger than makes any kind of sense. Within seconds, even the most tactically dull mind can tell that this island was built to be defended against many more than four people. It even seems to have been built, specifically, with Elites in mind. It would have been easier, after all, just to multiply a few of these defenses twentyfold, but those who survive anti-material ammunition and bolts of hails of magical bolts are then subject to EMP blasts and gas mines, lances of holy magic from plastered talismans and spears of cold iron sprung from under the loam. A systematic line of staggered weapons to try and hit every single kind of potential weakness. It's overwrought. Overscaled. Overthought. Overdesigned. Like sport. Fantasy. So preoccupied with 'could' that nobody could possibly have been considering 'should'. That even goes for a stealthy approach. Simple mechanical pressure plates, some buried in dirt, some guise under mantles of invisibility, handle land approaches alongside their microwave detection beams and scrying runes. Teleportation grows exponentially more difficult the closer one approaches, spitting one out twenty meters from their aim even when across the island, growing orders of magnitude worse the closer one tries to get. The dreaded, yet never seen, 'anti-teleportation measure'. There is no clear rhyme or reason that someone, anyone, would go to this length of experimental contrarianism. Certainly, packing up anything valuable and leaving, or better yet, simply having Elite guards, would be infinitely more efficient. Yet here it is. The fact that there don't even seem to be living guards, never mind the Elite, is currently telling. Everything from small, pop-up machine gun sentries, to wandering battle droids, to titanic sword-wielding stone golems, is forming up at the second line, backing up the still-holding rows of impassable walls of force and adamantine blast gates sectioning off the island. Hundreds of disposable units crowd the roads and checkpoints, churning the earth with blenders of fire, while paired behemoths block off intersections and cliff faces, hurling boulders, giant bombs, and using nature magic to rapidly entangle and flood side approaches. Even getting all the way to the front, one would crash headlong into these physical barriers and their lifeless defenders en masse. It can't be a fortress. Not really. This is something that should have stayed on paper. Something that should have stayed in some demented, star-struck child's imagination. It gives off an air of lethally juvenile glee to it all. There is no standard. Nothing agreed upon but a patchwork of a hundred different preferences and experiments.
Penumbra	ANALYSIS: The purpose of the tower itself isn't clear. Other than being ensconced in layers of powerful shields and wards, emanating an enormous power signature in its basement, and flooding the airwaves with too much information to possibly sort out from its broadcast array, all of its windows have been sealed down, and a terrible wind has picked up around its upper reaches, creating a ring of unnatural stormy weather that begins lashing hurricane winds and bolts of lightning no sooner than some have taken to the air, still without sign of anyone directing it. There are too many different energy signatures and patterns to count, and the construction is all over the place. It's all stacked on top of itself and interlocked like puzzle blocks. Perhaps using the most efficient means for every minute task, even just by degrees. The sheer expense of this ridiculous thing must be astronomical, never mind the diversity of expertise and sourcing required. That much is certain to keen analysis. Not one in ten of its components could come from the same or similar world. Some of the architecture is even alive. All of the complexes are heavily shielded against scanning, as if meant to be concealed from spies and satellites. The programming of the electronics around is esoteric and home grown, written in assembly languages, belligerently unique to each section, as if eight people couldn't agree on one. None of them are wired to any others, all operating autonomously, part flaw and part strength. SCOUTING: The island could be called a 'floating' island, but its borders merely blend into the soft, white static fog of the Expanse, its roughly hexagonal expanse of water turning silver under the absence of a true sun, though a dome of sky remains pale blue. It isn't clear where the docked ships would even go, suggesting they have some means of reaching a different world, or different Unification fragment somewhere else in the Expanse. Mixed in with the complexes however, are signs that someone should live here. Greenhouses and bunks, mostly, along with an outdoor pool. No one is to be seen. HAILING: The message goes out to the tower. There is, at first, no response. Second, a loud, grating, automated voice booms out of several loudspeakers, concealed inside lush plants and tiny water features, as if for walkaround museum narration. "<<Current transmission mode is set to: Alert Vantablack. Scanning message for cognitohazardous transmissions. Message will be cleared or deleted in estimate one hundred and eighty seconds. Stand by and disarm.>>" The sheer absurdity of the situation only mounts further. Sending drones around the defenses only results in their being automatically shot down, with enormous prejudice. ATTACK: Standing back on the beach, where the first line of defenses has been cleared by the four strangers and a beach head has been established, involves a lot less pressure. Still no shortage of lethal firepower streaking over and landing all around, but as a form of pressure and a way to thin out hypothetical ranks, rather than the sheer suicide of charging the front. Blasts that land square in pillboxes cause fiery cookoffs to belch from the shooting windows. A warning shot, explosive as it may be, almost vanishes in all the chaos, but the distinct difference of it is ostensibly registered by both sides. Automatic defenses pause to assess and reconfigure. The four on the beach form up again, as the advance swordswoman falls back away from the heavily defended front and the mage at the shoreline hurries up to the point.
Penumbra	THE SQUAD: Tomoe and Nanoha are spotted flying around the island. Though the latter stays wisely out of the main corridor of fire of the automated defenses, the former is battered by winds and storm, as well as a volley of SAM fire. Gladion and Caster approaching the group can, barely, hear over the maelstrom. A female voice saying "Two aerials spotted. Copy?" A male voice saying. "They aren't ours. Take them out." A separate female voice issuing a "With prejudice." The riflewoman adjusts her posture on her crouched comrade's shoulder and takes aim at the skies. The esoteric long arm of shattered marble and burning-alive ebony silences for several moments, then a six-sided scatter of dazzling muzzle flash explodes into a million tiny, fiery stars. The air ripples --no, twists inwards-- along a straight path, first to Nanoha, then Tomoe, drawing a straight and deadly high-speed line to each. A direct hit is enough to breach --rather, to wholesale unmake-- a dinnerplate-sized portion of a Barrier Jacket, all the way down to the skin, or strip an entire digital limb from an avatar, left waiting on slow game regeneration to shield the player beneath again. A near miss tears and scrapes portions of defense away with it, pulled into an invisible twister. The swordswoman, coming back to her allies, leaps fifty feet across the last set of broken barricades, touches weightlessly down on a fractured steel pylon, and then swoops all the way up to Gladion, just barely stopping almost sword-to-throat when he bats away an artillery shot. She turns to glance back at the mage, wordlessly exchanging a thought. At the offer slash demand delivered by the Concord duo, she turns back and laughs bitterly. "Is the enemy of my enemy my friend, or a moocher? I'm not promising you anything. We don't need charity. You can help if you like, and then if I like what you've got, I'll consider repaying the favour." Strange arrives in the brief pause created by the landing Caladbolg, the smoke and magical radiation temporarily lessening any amount of non-analogue fire from the other side. The mage motions to the pointman, who picks up his shield of shattered stone and wood, in no way proof against projectiles, and begins hustling up the beach, the other two behind him. He makes no attempt to prevent others from following in his bulky, lightly battle-scarred shadow. The white-haired man somewhere in his thirties, swathed in gold and grey, with piercing blue eyes, regards Strange with a type of gaze that isn't at all wizardly; he feels like he's being assessed by a professional hitman more than anything. "So. An info leak? I have some guesses who that might be. But they're not paying you for anything, are they? Great." He gestures to the tower, with a long rod of smouldering, unliving ebony, topped with a slowly revolving constellation of marble wings and rays, surrounding a soft white orb. "That thing is a mistake. If we let it stay there, it's going to destabilize a greater and greater portion of the Fifth Way. We tried reason. They didn't listen. So now we use force." There's a brief, meaningful pause. "The one and only truth in the Multiverse is force, after all. The schism merely proves the validity of our creed here. We're no longer welcome, it seems, so we're forcing our way back in, and when we get there, we'll burn it to the ground." The transmission comes in from the Janitor. Without hesitation, the mage tabs his communicator and says "There are sixty eight people inside that tower. The Tempest will pay you per head." He closes it abruptly after. He sends it back at Cantio instead. "Was. Is about to be again. Get out of the way."
Penumbra	Tamamo's probing finds that the four on the beach are relatively magically secure. Most especially, the shield pointman appears to have spread some kind of vague, defensive 'effect' over the area around him, impossible to describe even for her own considerable sagely wisdom. It's as if it doesn't have a particular description at all; no real attribute or origin save 'defense'. It matches the fact that she can't pick up any particular magic to any of their weapons either; even the mage's wand. An attempted Charm may be significantly blunted in some way, though probably not wholly repelled. There are, however, significant, similar, 'sensory' traces coming from the rifle as well, that might detect her attempt. "Our side of the matter is simple." This time the swordswoman answers Tamamo as she forms up behind the shieldman. "Those people are traitors. We've disavowed them. They twisted the knife. Now we take their heads." Finally, the heavily clad pointman speaks up, shaking his head solemnly. "Fools that they are, they believe that all of this can be theirs. Studied and broken down, understood and rebuilt. The hubris in the idea that those who came before them simply weren't doing it the right way; that they weren't clever enough, or they were too distracted from the learning and the knowledge. Neither learning nor knowledge are what this Multiverse is built on." The riflewoman behind him only utters "Battle. The only beating heart there is." And then Robin is in the way. The pointman laughs. "Who the hell are you? No matter! Someone with stones!" The mage: "Diter?" The pointman: "My shoulders don't even ache yet. The Throne-Shield is working fine. This level of defense is nothing." The mage: "Gaile." The riflewoman: "Plenty of charge remaining. Just say the word." The mage: "Sevra. Formation C." The swordswoman: "Cutting him up." Rather than being upset by his interference, the four seem perversely energized by Robin's opposition. The fact that he stands out in front of them seems to double their enthusiasm. It could just be his imagination, but it seems the smouldering glow in their bizarre equipment even brightens. The riflewoman, Gaile, turns her weapon on him, and with a flick of modular marble pieces, begins spraying him with a chiming glass clatter-sound of automatic fire, spewing silvery sparks from the barrel and tearing up his position in a hail of suppressive fire. If he pays close attention, he'll see the invisible warp and shred literally unmake the sand. Dangerous as it is, the swordswoman, Sevra, flashes in on him in the blink of an eye. Tessellating shockwaves follow the path of her shattered blade, multiplying fractally as she attacks him, so that every slash becomes six.
Guzma	As Lycanroc knocks the artillery shell out of the air, Gladion is repaid with a sword to the throat. Lycanroc growls, but Gladion just puts his hands up and radios. He's trying to look courageous, but he's clearly startled and scared, and has Never Been In This Situation. As he radios Guzma, Guzma's already moving over towards Gladion. "We'll accept that." He straightens his necklace, and gestures to the sword. "Let my guy go, alright?" Once the sword's down, Guzma's about to offer to take Robin...but the four have him. So, instead, he moves to push forward. "Gladion, make a charge to Hesinca and give her your support. I'll start tearing down their opposition." As Gladion moves to group up with Hesinca as her Assist Ally of the night, Guzma turns towards the nearest output of Paladins. "Alright! Which of you are gonna try to stop them? I'm gonna knock you into the dirt." A pokeball is sent out. Golisopod, the giant armored blue bug, is moving to start advancing. He's hoping for a fight.
Damocles	The sheer volume of different interlocking elements in the region are staggering for Damocles. It's obvious that whatever built this place, it's taken pieces from many different worlds and locked them all together. This fits in with what the mysterious message that drew him here told him, but it's still remarkable to see it all working together like this. Even with everything he's seen in the universe, nothing has been quite this seamlessly woven together. When others start to approach the four attackers, Damocles breaks his cautious stance and moves rapidly forward, warp energy casually channeled to reinforce his barrier against stray, or preemptively aimed shots. His staff glows with a shifting violet energy, as his glowing eyes burn a particularly bright cyan, the various energies around him feeding from the ambient magical energy to burn a little hotter than usual. "Well," He starts in a casually neutral tone as he approaches, not heading towards anyone in particular, but sort of just wondering out, vaguely in the direction of the attacking mage. "It seems I'm not the only one summoned here by mysterious, anonymous message. And here I thought I was special. Oh well, I'll get over it. Did I hear someone say something about destroying the doom tower over yonder? That seems like a job that could benefit from a sorcerous touch." His eyes dart between the various wizards already gathered, and he adds, "Well, another one, at any rate. I suspect my area of expertise might be underrepresented. Chaos magic, the Warp, etcetera."
Hesinca	Contrary to what she sometimes displays, Hesinca does in fact have a sense of self-preservation. When the bombardment starts, she pulls up short and stamps her hoof, causing a wall of earth to pop into existence, shielding her group (and also the Janitor). This presumably works for a time, but then there's anti-earth-wall bullets coming in from the sheer variety of armaments being employed, and so she abandons that plan - and shortly after that her position, retreating with (most of) her group to a point where she can put up better defenses and regroup, closer to the warpgate. "Okay," says Hesinca. "Okay." The prinnies look to her for guidance. "The people in that tower," she points. "Don't want to talk. Or even have visitors. Or do anything but open fire. They're dweebs." "The people down there," she points down at the quartet. "Are demanding that we help them out first, and then they'll talk. I ain't going to take those terms. They're also jerks." "So... what do we do, dood?" asks a prinny. "We're here - mission statement, okay - we're here on our own terms. We're here to check things out, maybe smash or steal something, but ultimately we're here on our own terms. Not..." She points at the tower. "Not to help some jerks who won't even give us the time of day. And not..." She points at the quartet. "To help out some jocks who want to demand and dictate terms like they're so much better than us." "So until either side here comes to me with a, verbatim, exact words, 'We're really sorry for being dweebs/jerks Hesinca please won't you help us with your awesome elite powers'. Those verbatim exact words. Until then... we enact Contingency Theta." There's a stir of murmuring from the prinnies. "You sure, Hesinca dood?" "I said Contingency Theta!" She stomps her hoof. "Get to it!" The prinnies turn and rush into the nearby Pocket Netherworld Entrance (the glowing floor tile)... and then emerge, carrying boxes, tables, chairs, all sorts of things, which they spread out and assemble all around the entrance... ... And over the course of about a minute, something starts taking form. A... resort? "Welcome to the Rosenqueen Restaurant, Side Five Branch," says a demon waitress, as Hesinca strides into it. "May I take your order?" "Yeah, margarita and some cheese sticks," says the demon centaur, finding a place to get comfortable near an aboveground pool that some of the prinnies are quickly assembling. It looks like some others are trying to set up a water slide, but having problems with the instructions. Soon, she has snacks, drinks, and a set of binoculars, getting comfortable and watching while out of the way of (most of) the incoming fire.
Nanoha Takamachi	Nanoha provides a nod in response to Tomoe's question about the letter. It seems it was widely sent, if the response to this location is any indication. She also nods along to Tomoe's description of her reasons for begin here. Makes sense. The prospect to learn more about Multiverse is another reason Nanoha is here, beyond her Paladin responsibilities. Nanoha smiles, "So, curiosity. Certainly a good reason as any. Let us see how this situation plays out then." Given the large number of elites here, Nanoha is glad that's one less likely to present as an obstacle. And thus one she won't have to fight. Now if only they can all cooperate like that. Wouldn't it be grand? Nanoha begins reporting her findings so far to her Paladin allies, when her staff suddenly chimes, <Master!> Nanoha reacts instinctively to the warning, swerving in the air just a moment before that shot reaches her. The resulting whirlwind rips past her side, tearing a whole in the side of her Barrier Jacket, even with it being a near miss. Nanoha quickly calls to Tomoe over the radio, "To the ground!" They've been targetted. And a shot like that, powerful as it is, is not one Nanoha wants to experience in the form of a direct hit! Taking her own advice, Nanoha quickly turns, blasting downwards in a spiral to throw off any follow up shots, before she decelerates at the last moment and hits the ground on her feet hard, letting her defensive magics absorb the impact. Nanoha straightens, letting out a breath before raising her arm to examine her side. The hole in her dress draws a look of concern. Nanoha then glances around at where she landed. It's close to some of those buildings she had observed. Nanoha considers for a moment... She then starts to walk towards them. She's here. She might as well investigate them to see if there's anything worth learning inside.
Eryl Fairfax	An old, yet familiar headache springs up in Eryl's skull as he looks upon the defences. Every conceivable flavour of damage is thrown out, every possible defence against intrusion layered like the world's most twisted Matryoshka doll. He recalls the meetings for planning the construction of the Ad Coelum and Aegis Astray, having to shoot down multiple ideas that are present here due to overhead, logistics, or simple practicality. This is no fortress, this is the treehouse that exists in the mind of the child that owns it. Eryl's opinion begins to shift in favour of the Tempest, only until he begins to overhear their cause. The notion that fighting, conflict, is vital. That with only it, may this part of the Multiverse hold together. His brow creases, and he takes a running jump to land in the sand, rushing Gaile the riflewoman and kicking at her curious gun to send it pointing at the 'sea.' "ENOUGH!" he barks at the four, aiming to insert himself between they and Robin. "As Grandmaster of the Paladins, I am formally interjecting. You have already fired on my subordinate, and I'll tolerate no further violence against us! We are here to seek an understanding, and we'll not glen that amongst the chaos of war. Whatever is happening, it can wait three minutes for the Tower's response." "And that goes for all the other arrivals too!" the Grandmaster snaps into the radio. "If you're here for profit, fun, whatever, you can take in the sights for 180 seconds. At the very least, use the time to make a plan. Just from a glance I can tell you all you're not wading through these defences solo." Guzma steps up, and Eryl gives the Pokemon Trainer a disdainful look. "Me, if you're so insistent on this." He turns his neck, creating a harsh popping noise. "But if you're willing to show some patience, it's quite possible based on the Tower's reply that I'll be out of your way, possibly even on your side. How eager are you for this fight, Mister Guzma?"
The Janitor	"No."
Robin Sundance	'There are sixty-eight-' And then the communicator is gone. Masked Ranger Thief's helmet is extremely close to the Mage's face. He just sort of blinked into the middle of their group, his coattails ruffling to a halt. In one hand, he's still got the whirling grappling hook. He holds up the other hand, spreading four communicators in front of himself like he's fanning a deck of cards. "Oh, non non non, monsieur." "I do not like that. In fact, I very much do not like that. You see," He turns around and holds up the communicators, his back to the Mage, "I am someone who steals hope from those who bring despair." "And it sounds to me as if, you see, you are the ones bringing despair, mais non? 'We tried diplomacy' - what an ugly word! - 'so we will now use force.'" Thief wiggles the communicators in front of him as he dances backwards, out of the center of their group, nimble and agile. "It is amazing how often 'diplomacy' actually means 'my way, or else', would you not agree?" "And that." The eys glow green. "Is something I will not abide." The smoldering glow draws his gaze only for a moment. He has more important matters on his mind. Silvery sparks flicker, tearing apart the ground. They glance off his armor, sparks flying from the impact. It sends him spinning backwards just in time to avoid Sevra's blade; he kicks off a spot where the sand was obliterated, a temporary foothold, the blade only nicking around his chest. Again, a spray of sparks of damage, again, knockback. When she blinks forward again he blinks back - not quite fast enough, but faster than others would probably like. He parries the next strike that comes in. With the handfull of communicators. The blade carves through the communicators cleanly. Thief discards the blasted hunks, tossing them into the path of a set of unmaking bolts on track to hit him square in the chest. It does nothing but soften the impact - and tear the remains of the communicators to shreds. "I gave you m'appelle, monsieurs et madamoiselles! But since you did not hear it last time, allow me to make a better impression!" Thief drops under one of the slashes. The grappling hook whirls like a whip, snapping forward to grab the sniper by the arm and twist the shot into the back of the swordsman. "Masked Ranger, Thief!" "The thief who snatches back the smiles of the downtrodden!"
The Janitor	As Hesinca provides a moment or two of reprieve from the Tower's obscene barrage, Jane Doe unscrews the cap of her water bottle and takes a long, deep sip. The deafening explosions and air-rending projectiles haven't jarred her nerves yet. As she does, half a message comes through her radio. "There are sixty-eight--" Sixty-eight what? She isn't spurred on as she might be if she'd heard the full message- and yet, the Janitor's job is always the same. She doesn't need to be told to cause harm. Screwing the cap back on her water bottle, she runs up the side of Hesinca's earthen wall and hops over it, directly into the maelstrom. After only a few yards her advance is effectively halted by the horrifying density of projectiles, but she doesn't retreat to cover, instead locating the exact closest point at which she can stand without defense becoming actually impossible. With an inhuman consistency and abject lack of fear, she stands as a flurry of motion: bullets fray her clothes or whistle through her hair as she presciently flinches out of the way, shrapnel from innumerable explosions manage to trace her outline without meeting flesh, and she flows around the arcane bolts as if they were rocks and she the river. As the scouring magical beam sweeps across the ground, she grabs an explosive and slams it into the earth, creating a last-millisecond foxhole for her to dive into for cover and leap back out of as soon as the danger has passed. Then, her counterattack begins. Jane Doe is only a human being, but her genius for causing mayhem is being given ample (and literal) ammunition. Grabbing an arrow out of the air with her bare hands, she uses it to impale one of the explosive munitions just right to disrupt its fuse, then returns to sender- not against the Tower's shields, but against the dirt in front of the Tower. Every shot she can feasibly (or infeasibly) direct or reflect back is hammered back into that singular point, carving a tunnel diagonally down into the earth. She's aiming for the basement. Viewed from a distance, Jane Doe's technique resembles a black hole around which the Tower's projectile trajectories warp and are slingshotted back along hairpin trajectories. Viewed up close, it's an incomprehensible demonstration of genius for violence.
Tomoe	The scouting continues up above the island is floating, well kind of it blend into the expanse at the edge of it. She finds it quite strange but also interesting. If it wasn't a war zone? Tomoe might take the time to just enjoy the view. There isn't time for that, however. She's keeping pace with Nanoha for the moment. "My world's pretty crazy what used to be VR games are now fusing with reality there, if you want to take a look sometime I'd be happy to show you." There's some incoming fire and tomoe will pull off several aerial manoeuvres to avoid a direct hit but there's still a red line on her shoulder where it clipped her. "IO think that would be a good idea Nanoha." Tomoe might be able to take a direct hit herself, yet? She would not like it nor does she seek to get hit when she can help it. The Salamander will bank and follow Nanoha down towards the ground. she'll take a moment to banish her wing and fall in with the magical girl. "Look I'm better at tanking hits than most, I'll take point when we head inside." With that Tomoe will move in checking out the building alongside Nanoha two sets of eyes might find something where a lone pair might overlook something.
Doctor Strange	PRESENT STRANGE "That's good to know," says Strange to Tamamo-no-Mae. "It just reinforces my belief that we can all get what we want without making this a slugfest. Worst case scenario, we end up having one anyway, but we actually know what the stakes are." FUTURE STRANGE "Clever." He does, and redoes, the motion with the Sling Ring, only to find that the exit point is shifted. Fine. The Mirror Dimension, then. He strikes at the very skin of reality, shattering it and stepping forth into a reflection of what's here. But like the Sling Ring, exiting puts him at a point other than the one he intented. "Okay... Lurking Eye of Lu Shi..." The scry mark is similarly deflected, and he's not quite . "Astral Projection?" Barrier. Every underhanded wizard trick has been accounted for. And as he watches the sheer number of aggressive one-ups-manship thrown towards those brave souls attempting to unga their way in, he realizes that a lot of thought has gone into keeping people out of this tower. Could he force his way in? It might be his ego talking... but maybe he could. The better question is what benefit it would have. Well, time to complete the loop. PRESENT STRANGE "Be right back." He vanishes in a flash of green, returning barely a second later. "Okay, that's kind of impressive, in a 'twelve year old arguing about comic books on the playground' kind of way," notes the Sorcerer Supreme after having just experienced all of the events mentioned above. The loud and grating voice is impossible to miss. At least Eryl got somewhere! Or rather, he will in three minutes. In the mean time, it looks like Guzma is really insistent on making this That's fine. "Ah... well." He shrugs at Guzma and Tamamo no Mae. "Y'know... a smidgen of context is better than none, I guess." The sorcerer makes the sign of the Eye once more, but this time, he vanishes in a flash of green light, dipping 180 seconds into the future and emerging at Eryl's previous position, there to await the message. "Hey, it's Doctor Strange. I'm Seneschal of the Paladins, I'm like Eryl's right hand guy. I'm visiting you from three minutes in the past because in case you hadn't noticed, there's a lot of people outside who really want to crack that tower of yours open. I'd appreciate hearing why you think this place is so important while there's still a timeline in which that can happen. Thanks." Another Strange emerges in the same spot the former vanished from, in the present, to guarantee that future actually happens, and buy his future self time for more questions. Archer's going to handle the woman with the lust for violence, Eryl will take Guzma... that just leaves Hesinca, who's... made a resort. Weird. As well as the Concord Tamamo, and Thief, who's handling the squad trying to crack the place open. "So, Tamamo... the way these things normally go is that you and me would now arbitrarily square up because all our friends are doing it and it's the hip thing to do. But... if that tower goes down, and those guys," he says, gesturing to the group Thief is dealing with, "Are still in the game, they're probably not going to let either of us get a whiff of what was in there. After all, 'force is necessary'... or whatever they said. So, I'm going to go help that guy, because 4 on 1 isn't fair unless it's me that's the 1. You can dick me over, or you can help. Later!" With that, Strange summons his mandalas, each burning brightly before his fists, the patterns rotating and locking into place as he readies a lightning spell to assist Robin, hurling it into the group to try and deal with the caster-looking hitman-esque staff wielder first.
Cantio	So much for that plan. Hurrying away from the defenses and towards the relative safety of actual-people, Cantio doesn't have much time to glean further information beyond the defenders being largely hostile and being inconsistently programmed like some kind of nightmarish class project. Her drones getting shot down is going to leave a dent in her finances if she's not careful, but it's better them than herself. Alas, she arrives roughly when Guzma starts issuing his challenge to the Paladins, when the Masked Ranger speaks in tongues to the squad of four, when Eryl meets Guzma's challenge with a call for sightseeing and a brief respite, and when Hesinca creates said sightseeing and respite location. The refusal from the unknown voice is particularly chilling, and Cantio doesn't do quite a good job hiding her anxiety over the entire situation as she approaches Guzma. "Maybe it wouldn't hurt to hold for just a..." She starts, but is cowed rather easily by the anger coming from the trainer despite it not being directed at her whatsoever. At least it helps narrow down her options a bit. It doesn't make deciding any easier, but it does spur her on just enough that Cantio's able to materialize her blade, an oversized white and purple affair with translucent accents and too many little divots and gears on it to count. "I... I've got your back, Guzma." She sounds and looks like she wants to be anywhere but there right now, and she can't even maintain direct eye contact with Eryl for more than a few seconds before glancing over at Guzma to make sure he's still there. The only steady part about her is her grip on the weapon, contrasting with just about everything else about her at this moment. Even going back towards the tower and its horde of people-hating defenders looks like it'd be a more comfortable spot right around now.
Tamamo	As far back as she is, Tamamo still makes a face when that beam of energy rakes the whole approach. The array of defenses, both active and passive, are unreasonable to list. Eventually, she does have answers, of a sort. Her face reflects nothing at all of what she thinks of it, nor does she need to move her lips to relay her thoughts to several others. She remains behind the pointman as Guzma approaches, and Eryl accepts the challenge. She looks back toward Hesinca, tempted toward a similar reprieve, but... well, maybe if she had more pleasant company than demons, and there were not any matters still to consider, few as these are. Robin, the thief -- or is it 'the burglar? -- stands in the way of the four. Will he last? She knows neither side well, but the outnumbered fellow is, intuitively, the one in greater danger. And yet... indecision. Unproductive, unhelpful, and likely not harmless. He said he would 'steal peace.' What a fool that man is. Tamamo does something. Her eyes always had that golden hue, but they weren't reduced down to slits just a moment ago. Her lips move, almost breathlessly, the words taking the place of fingers to pluck the strings that few can see. For so many to gather here, one could hardly fail to notice, there must be such a tangled skein of Fate. She reaches, without seeming to, for the threads surrounding Robin Sundance (twenty-four years old, lover of flowers), and she smooths away the snarls produced by those four others. She opens the path through the storm of lethal intent, though it remains, as ever it must, for him to walk it. A fool, to be sure, but the kind she likes.
Maksim Messerglas	Maksim's party advances along the furthest reaches of the beach, heading towards the Tower rather than the group clearly assaulting it. His thought is pretty simple and straightforward: the defenders will be so focused on the people assaulting it that they'll be able to move closer and observe it, maybe even look for a way in, without serious opposition. He expects some kind of guard patrols on foot, maybe. Very suddenly, Maksim becomes acquainted with a multi-layered distributed defense network, though by no name quite so specific. Reynauld gets blasted off his feet by a hypersonic round none of them could possibly see. Through dint of luck or whatever his armor is made of, it doesn't penetrate, instead shallowly glancing off of it with enough force to ragdoll him ten feet backwards and flat on his ass. Dismas hits the dirt, then rolls, a row of spears erupting out of the sand before parallel lines of searing lasers, refracted through some lobbed prism in the air, trace across the spot he was just standing and the back of his coat. It cuts through it and sears the stitched-in armor plates to the point that they glow. Maksim stops. His foot comes down on something. There's a popping sound, and a spinning capsule gets almost lazily lobbed straight upwards to about eye level. Cold iron needles spray in every direction, and it's only a reflex to flinch and cover his eyes that keeps him from getting blinded. Instead, he's got what looks like more than a dozen push-pins affixing the sleeve of his coat to his arm. The shock of it makes him stumble backwards and topple, too, but he doesn't yet feel anything but a burning sensation and shallow pinpricks. The horses attached to the coach a ways behind them freak out. Dismas scrambles to his feet, sprinting back towards it. He grabs hold before they try to go in different directions, desperately trying to calm them. Reynauld pulls himself to his feet, his bell firmly rung. He reaches out with his left hand, groping at the spot in the sand where a person-shaped indentation is but where no one seems to rest, grabs hold of something cloth-like, and hauls his stunned employer up and away, back towards the Warpgate. They'll probably be back after the ceasefire, if there is such a thing. Black powder and faith are not enough to deal with whatever nonsense this place packs.
Penumbra	It seems 'Sevra' has no interest in threatening Gladion, so he might as well be clad his Pokemon demonstrated a willingness to help before she hit him with that speed. The mage in back replies to Guzma with a satisfied "Good. Welcome to the fight." in her place. This lasts up until Robin snatches the communicator straight out his hand, not being the right stat build to prevent him. "Goddamn-- Gaile!" "I see it." Robin grapples her by the arm just as her fire tracks to focus on him, presciently predicting which way he'd dodge from Sevra's melee attack and strafing across his chest. Twisting her grip on her weapon, the streak of warped fire slashes across the Swordswoman's back instead --who breaks off from cutting him up to turn and somehow scatter the barrage with her blade. Though the weapon itself is half empty space, and the 'bullets' have done nothing less than violently make-things-not-exist, the interaction between them is such that the sword splinters each shot into a shower of silvery-white motes, turning to dust on the hot wind. Robin knows that kind of movement. These two aren't random troopers. They know each other. They've fought together for a long time. Presumably the whole group has. They have experience, they have communication, they know how to anticipate each other's moves, and they have the moves. Furthermore, they appear to be accustomed to off-world weirdos, and all of these attempts at automatic anti-Elite defenses. 'Diter' charges out of his blind side at a breakneck pace, swinging his tremendous shield out, and causing a straight column of interlocking, layered forcefields to shoot forward and crash into him like a cannon. 'Gaile' uses the time to disentangle herself from his hook, then abruptly disappear, cloaking into nothingness. It seems the missive hadn't lead everyone to a random themepark of a battlefield. If all four of them are able to coordinate against him, he'll be in very real, mortal danger. Even two at once would probably be a stretch for anyone here. He is very briefly spared by Eryl's intervention. The mage looks to the Paladin with that same chillingly analytical look. "I know who you are." he says. "Respectfully, Grandmaster, do I look like a contested border? Because your subordinate flew into the line of fire without warning, and I'm not taking credit for an 'act of aggression'. Further, the fact that I haven't joined up should tell you that I don't intend to operate by your timetable. It doesn't matter if it's three minutes or three seconds; your time isn't more valuable than ours, and you don't get to dictate our schedule." He raises his wand. Coruscating geometry expands outwards from its rotating core, bathing him in a complex, tessellating constellation of iridescent light. "Talk to them in person when I blast them out of their hole." The geometry collapses into a single, star-bright point, and then it winks out --teleporting, in actuality, into the front row of defenses, and erupting in an omnidirectional release of esoteric energies that annihilate a perfectly symmetrical crater out of a set of blast gates and surrounding mountainside. He hasn't aimed for Eryl, but he intends to go right around the Paladins. Strange is a different case. Diter flashes right into place, using his shield to intercept the lightning blast with another flashing wall of hexagonal force. Wordlessly, he breaks off from the group to charge the Sorcerer Supreme down, closing half the distance, then suddenly and without warning, releasing a pale, colourless imitation of the lightning blast straight back at him. At least it's one less on Robin for now.
Guzma	Guzma does not notice Gladion is walking over just to sit down near Hesinca and relax. Gladion does what he's told, but he was itching to fight. Guzma, meanwhile... After a heated talk on the radio, where Guzma lets forth his pent-up resentment for the authority figures that never helped him, he flails out his hand. "Golisopod. Body Slam." Golisopod moves to shoulder-charge the Grandmaster, using super-strength and a bulky body to just ram him, but that's not going to be enough against a durable guy like Eryl. But, the other day, Guzma had a realization. And if Eryl knows the trappings of Pokemon trainers at all and is relying on them, he might not expect it. "Thunderbolt." It is not Golisopod who attacks. Vikavolt, still flying around, fires a lightning blast, trying to damage Eryl with painful electricity that courses through the body on a hit! The bug flitters nearby, voltage stirring off of mandibles.
Tamamo no Mae	Tamamo chuckles a bit at this, an eye towards the other fox-like being, then back towards Strange, "Very well, my magic slinging friend for the moment." the Mirror of Uka finally materializes and floats around the Caster's body as she moves towards the "Doctor". "Well, I'm not going to let you have /all/ the fun." she smiles, following right behind. "I'm more interested in the magic behind this and what that tower holds. You don't seem harmful to my endeavours so I have no reason to.. .'screw you over'." At least, not yet. "Since you seem to have... some more innate knowledge here..." and there goes Strange with that lightning blast and Tamamo moves to throw out some ice spears herself towards the caster group. Might as well back up her buddy for a bit!
Penumbra	The explosion from the mage on the beach gives Jane Doe, in her strange locus of zen in the storm, a perfect opportunity. It nicely removes what looks like layers of esoteric supermetals and magical reinforcements laid through the rocks like rebar, leaving the glowing hot cross-sections of nuke-proof support struts exposed to the air. It provides her ample opportunity to bore her way through the second line, and into a cavernous underground space that would be dark were it not for the soft sunlight now filtering through. She can hear the whine of a familiar plasma generator, and smell a whiff of ozone, but the air is foggy with incense and rank with formaldehyde at the same time. The clunk and churn of machinery fills the air alongside the hum of electricity and faint singing of magical instruments. It's separated into two storeys, connected by floating, gravitic elevators, the bottom dedicated to rows of power stacks and fuel containers, and the top dedicated to what look exactly like ranks of massive computer servers, plugged into slab-like crystalline magitech archive slates. Information storage. Research? There are blast doors leading further inwards, towards the towers. Auto-turrets come to life and spray her with incendiaries and instantly-growing, fireproof thorny plants. Skeletal combat droids whirr to life from racks in the walls, tracing target lasers to her and beginning to swarm, approaching her with hails of laser fire, some bearing saws and plasma cutters. The more problematic aspect may be that her ingress is visible to literally everyone outdoors, and her purpose very obvious. Others could easily follow her. That empty spot also provides Nanoha and Tomoe a space to touch down without being smote from the sky. Landing in the jungle, they have a brief reprieve to examine a small campus of six blocky buildings with domed crystal roofs, connected by heavy brass pipes, and giving off the chug of gears and the hiss of steamworks. Through their windows, the pair can glimpse sights such as a huge mahogany desk strewn with piles of papers, a massive bookcase stuffed to bursting with elaborate Da Vinci-esque diagrams and tomes, and a disassembled piece of machinery the size of a car, made of brass and glowing gems, suspended amidst a forest of magnifying glasses on slender clockwork limbs. A workshop slash research station. For what? Unfortunately, approaching that draws out its own defenses. Hissing and thumping gearwork golems activate within a cleared courtyard, crashing through the brush at a steady, relentless pace towards them. Magitech lightning casters blast through the foliage, causing an instant forest fire, while giant pincers and crackling force blades are brought to bear against them in close quarters. Once again, the aesthetic doesn't match anything else on the island. However, here, at one of the individual sites, it is unified with itself, rather than a total mishmash.
Hesinca	IMPORTANT HESINCA UPDATE One of the prinnies has drowned in the pool. The others are using it as a floatie. ... That is all.
Robin Sundance	Interesting. Somewhat less useful than hoped-for, but information is ammunition in the business of a burglar. The knowledge that they were not mercenaries, but fanatics; the knowledge that they were not strangers, but comrades; the knowledge that their weapons did not hurt their own weapons. All of it was building up, bit by bit. Possibly not in any way that would be useful for him right now. After all, he was dealing with four well-coordinated, very competent, fanatics. Diter comes running out of his blind spot. Ah. Problematic. Thief yanks the grappling hook back as Diter comes running forward. A key flips from the keyring (where did that come from?) into his hand. He slams it into the side of the belt and spins it around. PH-PH-PH-PH-PHANTOM! His armor turns black and white, layered with silver and gold trim. A top hat grows from the two gold key protrusions on his head. A metallic red rose appears on the side of his chest. Most importantly, the hook tightens up, and he inverts the grip the hook itself. It's a cane. The cane slams into 'Diter's layered forcefields from the top. Thief goes up and backwards, glancing off the first. Then he glances off the second. It's like watching someone wall-jump in real time, because that's exactly what it is. It's only delaying the inevitable, though. The forcefields smash into him, and he hits the ground again, another shower of sparks as he bounces once. True to his namesake, he's quick back on his feet, flipping up from the bounce and straightening. He tucks the cane under one hand and raises his other. "I see I am worth taking seriously, monsieur. Merci beaucyou~. I would hate for you to think I am simply playing around." Then he vanishes. He reappears behind 'Diter'. The cane comes swinging down for 'Diter's head. Though it's just a blunt instrument... Well, there's the sense that it could cut through anything he really wanted it to. Canes aren't supposed to be swords, but that one certainly does feel like one.
Doctor Strange	PRESENT Strange is fooled by Diter's last minute switch-up. So much so that when the pale lightning comes his way, it's all he can do to throw up a barrier at the last minute, his mandalas widening to catch some of the blast. Some, but not all. The tail end of it shatters his hasty barrier, burning his hands and staggering him back. Two can play at that game. He flies back, playing the part of the mage spooked by a heavily physical opponent, summoning an elaborate staff constructed from orange energy. It's a fake. In fact, Strange himself was a fake from the moment his feet left the ground. The real Strange floats through a portal cut into the ground, appearing right in front of Diter with a pair of hatchets constructed of that same glowing energy, their heads bearded to allow him to use them as punching weapons when needed. He goes on the offensive from the moment he emerges, hacking at his armored opponent and trying to wrest the shield from his hands. How? By any means necessary--punching through his armor by superheating the hatchets, rendering his elbows immaterial to attempt nerve strikes, icing the ground behind him to knock him into Robin's strikes. If Diter's going hard, so will Strange.
Cantio	Despite her initial (and also mostly current) apprehenshion, Cantio finally manages to summon enough backbone to get into the fight proper once it begins. So wha if he's the Grandmaster of the Paladins? She's simply fighting for her allies, her friends, and fie on the consequences! Except she's totally thinking about the consequences. Would this cause an international incident? Will this look bad if news of it reaches her home? What would the rest of thepeople in the Concord think, picking a fight ike this? The time for thinking ends quickly enough, at least, as Guzma goes in first with his Goliospod and Vikavolt's double attack against the Grandmaster. "Oh geez... A-alright, then. I've got this!" Seizing the opportunity to take the initiative as well, she backs the pair up with a quick laser shot from her sword, then charges in with a quick flurry of swipes from her blade. Her heart's not in it, but the technique's there. The slashes aren't random, but deliberately restrained as if trying to see how he'll react to taking a three-pronged attacked.
Archer EMIYA	Seemingly nobody wants to throw their lot in with stopping The Janitor. As far as he knows, this is probably understandable, given how many people have had public conniptions about them. Worse thing is that they probably know that. Unluckily for her, Archer's also a particular brand of dead inside and doesn't mind going up against one women armies. After tracking down the gale of death that is THE JANITOR in the distance with his special eyes, he tosses away the bow and sword he's holding away, making his way down to the battlefield. He's got a lot of ground to catch up on, and a lot of potential getting shot at to worry about. He's capable of deploying Rho Aias to help provide himself with cover, though it's sadly not as cool as deflecting artillery fire with one's bare hands. Despite all his hustling, he's not fast enough to prevent her from breaking in, instead having to follow through the opening they made. Having finally caught up to the fabled Jane Doe, Archer doesn't really have much choice in stopping them at the moment. Not with security on their asses at least, since he really does not want to deal with a three-way fight. He simply waves a hand through the air, a torrent of swords raining down, the weapons exploding with the skeletal droids on contact. He's kind enough to arc them in a way that they careen over the assassin's head. His kindness ends at preventing any sort of shrapnel from hitting her, but only because if she made it this far she doesn't need that kind of babying. "Alright. I'm here to stop you, clearly, if you aren't too detached to notice. But until we've dealt with security so that they aren't pounding on our backs, truce?"
Penumbra	Meanwhile there is, right now, somehow, a convention of wizards. Damocles is subject to the same 'I am planning eight ways of how to kill you, nothing personal' look as the others, but his arrival is met without hostility, having been inserted long after the interference has become massive and constant, what with one fox two fox purple wizard white wizard going on. "I assure you, there isn't a single kind of magic those people don't have bottled up in that basement somewhere. Maybe not yours personally, but give it time. Every kind of magic, every kind of technology, every supernatural power, every bit of otherworldly essence; that's what their cause has become. Those people who'd claim to still be the 'true' Unifiers." He turns to the rest. "Let me tell you: the Unifiers don't exist. A brilliant idea, broken in its infancy. A faction that won't ever be now, thanks to them and their type. They're the kind who've learned nothing from the past. They weren't content with merely learning about the Multiverse; to study and document it. Ever since they got the idea of a 'unified theory of Multiversal mechanics', their ambition has quickly outpaced their grasp. No two of them can agree on anything, but they've collected as many dangerous things as they possibly could all into this one space, amongst others. Avarice made would-be god kings out of scholars. People who think study will lead to control, and some mastery of fundamental forces that don't exist." "I tell you all again. Someone reinvents this same idea, somewhere, all the time. Whenever they get anywhere, they destroy things. The Multiverse cannot be learned. It cannot be turned into an equation. It isn't a book. The Multiverse is strife. End to end to end. Every world that unifies, a new threat, a new war, new warriors. We all exist as part of nothing less than a single contiguous crisis on infinite worlds." "And what decides the course of those worlds? What wins the day, time and time again? What dictates who chooses and who loses? It's me. It's you. It's battle. Combat. The fight. No one has ever achieved anything of worth in the Multiverse without being armed." "Look at the leaders of your factions, even. A myth of old whose inexplicable power is to kill anything and everything. A folk hero whose helping hands are stuffed with coilguns and vibroswords. A legendary soldier whose great purpose is to free war of its boundaries and ensure an eternal place for his kind." "Look at the past. How many people have ever studied their way to victory rather than ruin? How many pursued perfection of the strife instead? And look how powerful they became. The old tales of Emperors and Pures and Dragons greater than any number of us. At the height of their greatness, the old superpowers warred constantly and honestly, and it made them mighty. When they became old and idle, sitting atop their knowledge and their riches, looking at how to control the Multiverse, they perished overnight. Isn't that clear enough?" His speech ostensibly concluded, he gestures towards the tower once more. "In that tower are things I regret bringing together. Secrets that shouldn't be pried into. Knowledge that is more harm than use to those idiots. Mishmashed abominations of technology and magic that already strain this fragment of reality. I'm taking responsibility. We're destroying it. We are the Tempest, and everything you know about this Multiverse should tell you that we are right."
Tomoe	Things are going well so far for Tomoe and Nanoha. "This looks like it might be some sort of workshop or lab. There might be information in here or other items." Tomoe would look at the place and would take a moment to pull out her phone from her inventory to start snapping pictures, that doesn't last long as she hears the sound of Golems coming online. "Sounds like we got company, Nanoha." She'll pull a shield out of her inventory which has a list of odd names on it and some of them shift after a moment and change, she has Caliburn in her sword hand and sem ready, she'll pop several abilities as she moves in on the Golems. "Oh Hello there, I guess this is where we fight? COME GET SOME!" With that Tomoe pops several taunts and tries to keep the Golems on her while allowing Nanoha the freedom to operate.
Eryl Fairfax	Eryl challenges the wizard's chilly look with one of his own, taking his eyes off of Guzma to stare at him. "Are you not specialists - nay, ardents - of violence? You don't get to say violence you committed is not on you when you define yourself by it, that's ridiculous." He's so into this that he's not even paying attention to Guzma issuing his orders. Or at least, he doesn't seem to be. "Further, if this assault, this last stand against those in the Tower is so important, you don't want to rush it. It speaks volumes that you are still on the beach and the Tower is all the way up there. Take the time, make a plan. Or at the very least, let the more ridiculous of us clear a path to ex-" Guzma switches his command, and Eryl is struck by a bolt of lightning. His skin cooks, the metal of his limbs heating. His words die in his throat as he turns to look at Team Skull leader. "All right. I was ignoring you there. Mea culpa. But don't you worry Mister Guzma. You and your Pokemon now have my full attention." At least, they do until Cantio blasts him with lasers. One sizzles as it clips his side, but his arms intercept the rest, the Grandmaster's body bobbing and weaving around the controlled slashes. All the while he addresses Gaile. "We will have further words if even a single person in that Tower is dead before I'm done." And then he leaps into action. His hands clap around Cantio's blade, trapping it in place before Eryl rushes forward, shoving the weapon and its wielder back to capitalise on Cantio's evident lack of enthusiasm. Rushing forward after her, he raises his arm and aims to slam the crook of his elbow right into the program's face, a picture-perfect depiction of a lariat. But with his arm bent just-so, a slug erupts from his elbow, flying to intersect with Vikavolt's flight path before exploding into a cluster of pellets, cutting off any bend or arc the Bug can take to try and avoid the shot. Finally, continuing to rush past Cantio, Eryl leaps into the air and comes down on Golisopod, fist raised and posed to slam right into the big Bug's face and bring it down to the sands.
Nanoha Takamachi	Nanoha sticks with Tomoe as they move into the complex. She nods in agreements with Tomoe's suggestion, slowing her pace to let the Salamander take point, "I'm better from the back, myself." Nanoha follows along with Tomoe. She's keeping aware of the brewing fight back on the beach via the radio. She's clearly a little concerned for her allies' safety. But for now she doesn't immediately rush off, believing they can handle themselves. Better to continue the investigation. As they begin to explore the buildings here, Nanoha takes note of the style. Even before entering the Multiverse, she's traveled numerous worlds. Each with differing styles. And she's seen her fair share of fiction too. The architecture of these buildings, the equipment she can inside through the windows. Probably something that one could call steampunk, or clockpunk, depending on specifics. Nanoha nods in agreement with Tomoe about the purpose of the buildings. She then muses out loud, "The technology isn't quite as much of a mess as the tower. It's more normal..." She looks over at Tomoe, "There were other groups of buildings, right? I wonder if they're the same style, or different." The two's investigation is disturbed though, by the sound of clanking footsteps. Many of them. Nanoha raises her staff in preparation, turning in the direction of the sound just as the golems come rushing out of the brush. A circular barrier of pink runes appears in front of Nanoha, blasts of magitech lightning crashing against it. Cracks form in the light with each blow, though Nanoha doesn't panic. Instead she raises her staff into the air. A dozen orbs of pink appear in the air around Nanoha. With a swing of her staff, Nanoha calls out, "Axel Shooter!" The orbs blast away from her, arcing through the air to land amidst the rushing golems and explode. Nanoha focuses her aim on the shooters to the rear, trusting Tomoe to handle those closing in for melee.
The Janitor	As soon as her blasting tunnel breaks through into the cavern below, Jane Doe breaks into a nearly inhuman sprint across No Man's Land, using one of the cold iron spears from the initial deathtraps to casually redirect incoming fire to both sides like Moses parting the Red Sea. Despite the uneven ground, despite the distractions, despite the fact that she ought to be gasping for breath from prior exertion, she is precisely as fast a sprinter as Olympic gold medalists. It gives the impression- to anyone studying closely- that she might not really be bound by human limits, but only the pretense of them. When she arrives in the cavern, she immediately gets to work heedless of Archer's close pursuits Grav-lifts mean powerful propulsors. Propulsors mean force. Force can be applied to break things. She copes with the defenses- not making a serious effort to eradicate them- in her usual chaotic way; parrying what bullets she can't feasibly evade, skewering the robots she can't ignore, ripping a sharp piece of metal from the carcass of one to skewer the next one with. All the while, she's fidgeting with one of the grav-lift's guts in the spare fractions of a second she can buy. Archer's dramatic arrival and assault catches her attention, though only- at first- the minimum required to rip up a floor tile and casually use that as an improvised shield against the exploding swords' blizzard of shrapnel. She gives him a sharp and eyeless look from behind the brim of her cap and her dark bangs, then returns to her work- having finished rearranging the guts of the first grav-lift, she runs straight up the wall to the second story to bag another. "Deal." While the Heroic Spirit covers her, Jane Doe proceeds by tipping the two grav-lifts on their side and loading them with fuel containers. The finishing touch is them together with the bullet-pitted cold iron spear from earlier, shorting their wiring through its conductive length in a precisely intuited way. A fraction of a second later the twin shishkebab'd platforms rocket forward at overcharged speeds, slamming into the blast doors with all the force of a trainwreck. The platforms themselves are aimed to continue down the corridor behind to bulldoze anything hiding behind them, while the force of the explosion shreds any turrets that are too close.
Damocles	The brief cease-fire that Damocles agreed to has proved, for the Sorcerer, to be more interesting than he expected. First, he learned that the situation inside the tower is not what he expected. Not an abandoned relic, but a bastion for a group of rebels fighting for their own independence. That could be useful as another method of getting to the information he's looking for. Especially since another member of The Watch is fighting on their behalf. Depending on how the wind blows, he might be better off switching sides here. More interesting though, is that he has some time to examine the energies here more carefully, and when he still can't make sense of things, actually consult with another expert in the field. That's a rare privilege in his line of work, and it proves to be very interesting. Doctor Strange's take on the situation matches his, but is phrased in a different way. One that reshapes how he thinks of the situation. What he assumed to be some kind of central force creating a repelling field, could indeed just be the natural result of the power channeled here. An unmoving storm. Trying to move through it, one would be cast adrift in the current. However, currents also follow their own rules. Push, and pull. So if the center is constantly pushing energy away, then somewhere it must also be pulling. It's a daring theory, and one that makes a lot of assumptions, but it does match what he knows now. That would mean that, if you didn't swim against the current, but got carried, you could, in theory, be dragged to the center again. That's a very dangerous trick. You could also be cast about, thrown who-knows-where...Even just ejected into the Aetherium entirely. However, if he's right, it might be the only way to bypass the problem, as well. And Chaos magic does not favor the meek. "One moment. I have an experiment to run," Is all Damocles says before he waves his staff, and vanishes in a flash of violet flame. The teleportation exit is one he's done thousands of times before, except with a very new wrinkle: Every other time, he's had a point of exit. Somewhere he was going to emerge. This time, he does not. He planned no exit, directed no destination. He simply fell back into the raging sea that is the magical energies here, and surrendered to the current, to see where it would eject him.
Guzma	Eryl's ignoring Guzma pisses the latter off, who is then dealt devastating damage - while Golisopod manages to brunt it with almost diamond-like armor plates on his arms, Vikavolt... Is shot straight in center of mass, blasting the bug backwards and knocking it almost out of the sky before it lifts itself up. It's still in the fight, but that was a heavy deal to the metaphorical healthbar. "Golisopod. Poison Jab. Vikavolt. Thunder Wave." Guzma shouts out, as rapid as they actually act. Golisopod, up close, takes a poison claw and moves to ram it into the most organic, or at least poison-weak part of Eryl and start getting all in there, before grabbing an arm and trying to make it harder for him to swing. Vikavolt, meanwhile, fires a wave of electricity meant to paralyze the metal man and make it harder to move and evade. "You look down on me, don'tcha? I can understand it because I'm a punk, but that ain't why. You think I'm weak, or you wouldn't have been ignoring me. Well, news flash, you know who isn't weak?!" "It's ya boy, Guzma!" Followed by a flash of gang signs.
Penumbra	Between Archer and Jane Doe, the interior defenses set into the poorly planned generator slash server room don't stand much of a chance. Several fuel containers are casually punctured and begin leaking, either liquid fuel or thin rays of some kind of corrosive light. Many of the servers are damaged, and in thus doing, instantly lose possibly immeasurably valuable data. The blast doors are hurled what must be two hundred feet down the corridor, the elevators being wildly overspec and unsafe for the basic job they have to do. A trail of broken metal and crushed wood is left in their wake as they impact a far away back wall and explode. It's just the two of them. Nanoha and Tomoe are left alone in more manageable circumstances. Past the front line, the heat isn't nearly as tremendous. Being left alone with what might be one person, or a small team at most, worth of autonomous defenses, their combined tanking and blasting efforts are more than adequate to eliminate their mechanical foes, absorbing the heavy weaponry to the Salamander's shield and cutting them down with Raising Heart's magic. Curiously, that seems to be . . . it. There's no further response save the facility locking down its windows and doors. No emergency signal. No call for reinforcements. It's like it isn't connected to any of the other complexes at all, merely relying on the shared benefit of the absurd outer perimeter.
The Janitor	The Janitor seems perfectly content to wholly ignore, or forget, her date with Archer. With only her half-empty plastic water bottle in hand, she calmly sidesteps the leaking fuel containers and plods towards the now-open hallway beyond, her back brazenly turned on the Heroic Spirit. It's an open dare: if he wants to stop her, he has to start swinging.
Cantio	"A collection of artifacts? That's just asking for a disaster if it got into the..." Cantio furrows her brow as she keeps listening to the mage, his words already confirming what her mind had tried filling in the blanks with. "But if all that's true, doesn't that mean everyone's hands are the 'wrong' hands for any kind of artifact? Or would they be the right hands if the way to progress is constant fighting like you said? Is there no other way towards peace? Towards progress?" Despite the rather somber tone, she does't look particularly bothered by it. It just confirms what she was thinking already. All the more reason, then, for her to make sure that the Tower and its things are... She's not even sure at this point. Thinking too much about it certainly won't help her now, though, especially as she's already in the middle of fighting Eryl alongside Guzma and his Pokemon. Or maybe this is exactly what the mage means. "He's... Got a point, though. There's always stories about fallen empires that become too comfortable with what's good enough and just controlling what they have. But going in this quickly is kind of foolhardy...!" Eryl stops his blade with his hands. Not another weapon, not by evading it entirely, but he just stops thething. There's a moment where Cantio looks absolutely dumbfounded, and the following lariato nearly takes her head right off her shoulders. Thanks to the sound of his elbow firing something off, however, her instincts kick in just quickly enough that she can shove her arm up in-between to pad the hit a little as she gets smashed backwards and stabs her sword into the ground to steady herself. "I don't think he... That's..." Cantio starts, but finds herself unable to speak up again as Guzma directs more anger Eryl's way. Would it help at all to try and calm him now? Probably not. Instead, she refocuses her efforts on just trying to keep Eryl at bay, charging forward again with her sword trailing behind her. As she draws closer to Eryl, she slides her hand across the flat of her blade, making a strange guitar riff-esque noise that lingers long after she grips the blade with both hands again. The blade goes up and sends out a burst of staticy, ear-ringing noise, and then she starts swinging it around Eryl rapidly as though trying to batter him with the shockwaves coming off the weapon rather than the blade itself. She also takes that opportunity to try sneaking in a few words. "It's... Er. It's a honor to face you, Grandmaster. Please don't think too badly of Guzma...!" IT's sort of stage-whispered in that half-shouting, but trying not to be too obvious way.
Tamamo	Though the battle grows increasingly chaotic, Tamamo does not have the spare attention to watch more than for the general state of health of those involved, the enemies of her allies included. She focuses, instead, on the nearest of the four. It doesn't really matter which, at this point, since the metaphorical gloves are coming off, but 'the man who was just speaking' is convenient. "A most selective view of history, to be sure, but consistent within such constrained perception as knows only the storybooks of civilization." She's leaving the rest alone, now, her mirror floating behind her to shield her from stray fire, the divine tool occasionally sparking from the impacts. "Such things as 'argument' and 'changing minds' are not within my motives, and so, let us set this to one side. It is 'answers' I seek, and if there is aught I wish from you, it is that you fail to kill your traitors before they speak theirs. Do tell me this, then: What is 'the Fifth Way,' and in what danger does this tower place it?" The Charm grows in intensity with every step she takes. 'All else is unimportant' verbalizes the subtle curse. One cannot look away from the Sun, though it is certain that one should. It would surely be dangerous to ignore.
Penumbra	Vanishing several minutes into the future, Strange arrives in time to hear "<<Transmission cleared. Return message impending. Three. Two. One.>>" The hurried voice of an exceptionally nervous-sounding young man comes through the other end. "Hello! Yes! We're aware of the Paladins! This is Unified Tower; we're the Facet Five branch of the Seekers! Those people outside --they're not going to stop until this is all burned to the ground! You can't let them! The research in here --the material --the data --is priceless! Years of work! Millions of credits!" "You want to know what happened, right? Four years ago. They don't, but we do. If you care even the slightest, you have to stop them!" "<<Transmission end. Resuming Vantablack procedures.>>" This means having to retroactively wait another annoying three minute period to clear any followup. Strange is now stuck playing message boy back and forth if he wants a dialogue.
Nanoha Takamachi	It seems that the defenses that Nanoha and Tomoe face are not quite as extensive as those at the tower. Soon enough they are able to finish off the last of the golems. Nanoha walks over to the pile or leftover parts. She kneels down, looking over the remains. She's actually feeling a little apologetic. She idly says to Tomoe, "I feel like a common criminal trying to break into someone's home..." Sure, the security is just a tad bit on the lethal side. And of questionable intensity. But everyone has a right to defend themselves. And so far, those who have come here do not have any evidence of wrongdoing on the part of the island's owners. Just the words of a group that appear to have initiated the siege and are clearly a little on the questionably aggressive side. Nanoha stands again. She turns to look at the narby workshop, the building security now locking everything down. Though unlikely to be able to stand up to even a fraction of Nanoha's destructive magics. Nanoha stands there for several seconds, staring. It doesn't feel right... Nanoha looks at Tomoe, "What do you plan to do now?"
Tamamo no Mae	Tamamo's continuing her assault, marks from return fire marring her visage. "Hey, Strange, got any new ideas. I don't think we're making any headway here." she calls out to the temporary ally. "I don't mind backing you up but I would really like some info on what's going on and what you're finding out my friend at the moment~"
Archer EMIYA	"Well then." Security is no more, having been obliterated by two people who do not have the word 'collateral damage' in their dictionary. Perhaps this is where love would blossom, two enemies coming to appreciate each other and all that cheap schlock. Fortunately, they're both complete wrecks as far as human beings go, so the poor contrived romance plot as been subverted. Please clap. "So. As far as jobs go, I can't let you go any further. I'd say no hard feelings, but I don't believe you can take things personally." Archer pauses, as he begins his chant. It's THAT chant. The one about swords, blood, and unobtainable dreams. The empty hallway begins filling up with multiple outline of swords, their details filling out as the entire area is filled with the distinct stench of smelted iron. "So while we're both doing business, let's talk. What do you know about the people here?" He slowly approaches Jane Doe, removing a generic longsword now stuck in the ground. As soon as the weapon is fully pulled, his slow approach turns to a full on dash, sword raised overhead as he attempts to quickly slash at the woman's midsection.
Penumbra	Damocles engages in a very, very stupid idea. It is a stupid idea that is either so stupid that these too-smart-by-half people wouldn't think to hedge against it, despite having floated every possible other idea, or it could potentially be an intentional oversight by whoever was responsible for the awful teleportation wards to then get through them himself later. His attempt drops him right inside the building. What might be a basement, though it's hard to tell with no open windows or doors to the outside. A circular room without a lot of space to move around the giant, gunmetal gray pillar taking up most of its center, made with a transparent midsection that looks into a luminous, levitating core of white light. Peering through the shielding, he can make out a piece of shattered white marble, and a branch fragment of black wood. The former shimmers with a faint distortion. The latter is smouldering within, as if it had come from the bottom of a fire pit with an undamaged exterior. The latter appears to be growing over the former. There are an enormous number of gigantic sensors and measuring devices, both technological and magical, all around the room, as well as a couple of positions for what he intuits should be psychics to sit, with desks and chairs cluttered all around them, covered in binders, inked scrolls, old computers, and empty cups of coffee. Some of them have been scattered or tipped over, as its occupants appear to have beaten a hasty retreat downstairs. Red warning lights constantly pulse in the area, with a soothing intercom voice repeating instructions to stay inside on loop. Shortly thereafter, he can hear Eryl's first message come in through the speakers, three minutes late.
Eryl Fairfax	"I was ignoring you because the world does not revolve around you, Mister Guzma. A war is happening around us, and one side opened fire on a fellow Paladin. Would you not focus your attention on someone who has harmed a member of your gang?" Golispod rushes, extending a stinger to stab at Eryl, while Vikavolt zips around to send an arcing wave of electricity. Having to split his attention, Eryl picks the big lumbering Bug-type to focus on, his hand coming up to push the thrust off-centre. It still grazes him, Guzma rewarded by seeing a spurt of blood and the clench of Eryl's teeth as the poison successfully enters his system. His body arcs as the lightning courses through him, surge protectors guarding his cybernetics as his muscles convulse. But even through that, his hand lashes out to grab Golisopod's arm, the one grappling his other hand. Cantio charges in, her sword creating harsh noise as she swipes at Eryl, the first opening a cut across his front. Even his mortal skin is still surprisingly tough. "Shame it could not be..." the Grantmaster retorts through chattering teeth. "In better circumSTANCES!" Mustering his all, he swings Golisopod by his arm, using him as a club and shield all at once to interrupt Cantio's attacks and using the Bug's shell as a shield from any further punishment. Letting go at the apex of the arc to send it tumbling at Cantio, he dashes after them, sand underfoot busting up as he slams into the Pokemon with the deltoid of his shoulder (or the metal equivalent). The rush is like a lance, sending it tumbling further and tangling Cantio up in the Pokemon's bulk.
The Janitor	The "nobody" in the gray boilersuit turns around halfway through the chant, passively watching Archer's approach. She glances from side to side as the room reshapes itself around them, taking in the sudden thicket of ground-embedded blades with a silent equanimity. As he charges forward, she finally shifts into something vaguely resembling a fighting stance, but still far too loose and casual- her arms still dangling by her sides, but her profile minimized with a sideways twist. When he swings at her gut, she blocks the edge of the blade with her open palm. A single droplet of blood trickles down her wrist from the cut on her hand. "I don't know anything," she says in that tense moment. "I'm just here to hurt people. Like you." Her leg comes up in a blinding instant, planting her foot off-center on his chest and trying to shove him diagonally backwards. If successful, he'll land on one of the functioning grav-lifts- which she hotwires a fraction of a second later by throwing a sharp piece of metal shrapnel into its control panel, hotwiring it to rocket upwards and crush him against the ceiling. Getting out of that likely will consume a lot of effort he'd rather have put towards beating her down instead.
Tomoe	Things for Tomoe and her impromptu party member Nanoha are a bit more manageable than fighting on the front lines. The fight is intense but it does not last very long as between her ability to mitigate and take damage? With Nanoha backing her up and dealing with the damage dealing it's pretty much handled now they might get a chance to look around. With the last Golem down Tomoe will turn to Nanoha again and start to looks around. "I think staying around here would be a bad idea, I bet they got some sort of gas, nanites or aether they may pump in here. We should get moving fast. "IF we're to grab anything we need to get going to explore elsewhere. It looks like anyone live has checked out of here."
Guzma	"Shut up." Guzma replies, snarling. "You're a coward. She wouldn't have gotten shot if you were decisive, instead of acting like-" A flashback to hearing Rapp's scream, on that boat. Guzma digs his foot into the sand, angrily, and then points his finger. "You don't care anything for people like me! We don't fit into your organization's worldview! The people cast aside by society, the rejects...well, I've got news for you! I'm going to change their fate! I'm gonna be king of the world when I'm done!" There's a hint that the frustrations aren't completely at Eryl, but some of that is real actual disdain for the man. They're just incompatible people. As Golisopod is swung into Cantio, it hits hard, and is shot hard, whining in pain. Guzma winces, and grabs the Pokeball after the bug and Cantio get tangled up. "Golisopod, return." He then taps the other, and returns Vikavolt as well. Grabbing a third yellow-and-black pokeball, Guzma taps it and releases. "Let's fight metal with metal. Scizor. Jab into Swords Dance." The red metal mantis is summoned, standing tall and proud, as it suddenly, rapidly dashes forward to hit Eryl with a hard jab to the gut. This is Guzma's offensive ace, with Golisopod being the defensive. Afterwards, Scizor sheens claws together, and swords begin dancing around it in the air. They're not tangible - sheer expressions of energy - as they fade away soon after. But there's a visible sense that Scizor is powering up.
Penumbra	The Tempest trio currently locked in combat seem to finally have exactly what they want. Their enemy --these 'Seekers' belonging to 'Facet Five' --are hiding out in the Tower while legions of wildly overdesigned anti-Elite defenses try, and fail, to hold them back. But these new arrivals are genuine foes. As per the leader's words, the affirmation is instantaneous. "Ah, so someone will stand for them." "Finally." "Now this is finally something that matters!" Robin's cane comes down right on Diter's head from behind. It's a reasonably successful acrobatic attack, but the instrument strikes, sparks, and rebounds from, a wall of flashing, iridescent hexagonal tiles that springs into existence, curving from the shield's forward 180 degrees and covering the man's head from above. Feeling the slight energy drain, the man turns around to face the attack, and swings the giant segmented wall of shattered marble straight into Robin with thrice the force of earlier. There's even a slight explosive sound as energy flares from its corners to accelerate it. He turns and begins to chase, thrusters flaring from the back of his armour and letting him bear down on the elusive masked man, gaining considerable speed for a party tank. Finally, he gears to put his spear to use, bracing it low and jousting the thief several times, looking to skewer him through the middle with a blade that works just like the riflewoman's bullets; the edge of which invisibly extends two inches from the white stone fragments. Strange gets his chance to jump in, and his sorcerous dual hatchets cut deep into the armour, leaving molten gouges. Diter leaves his life in the hands of his Comrade, as Sevra suddenly blurs into position to bat his weapons away with her own, clashing ferociously against the dual handed assault, globs of fire singing her skin while fractal ripples of force lash and cut at Strange in return from each parry. Picking up speed, she finally smashes both of his hatchets at the same time with the same arc, throwing his arms out and his guard open wide, then crouches low to the ground and springs forward with a lightning fast lunge, five illusory swords closing in on him from all sides at the same time. Caster's barrage of ice shards rains down on the three of them collectively. Diter braces down and allows them to crash against his armour and shield wall, weathering the magical blows. Sevra manages to twist and slide between them mid-lunge, taking shallow cuts and frostbite for her trouble rather than abort the attack on Strange. Gaile, invisible, is hit by pure dumb luck, causing her cloaking field to shimmer. Cursing, she reconfigures her rifle pattern again, and then blasts the rest of the shards out of the air with a shotgun blast of golden rays, with that odd, hexagonal muzzle flash again. She smoothly swivels the weapon down on the fox next, leaning into the still-living stock and barreling towards her like a linebacker, firing off several successive blasts in her headlong charge, recoil balanced out by her insane forward tilt, before leaping and swinging the blunt end of the gun at her head.
Damocles	Well, either Damocles's plan worked, or he wound up in a very interesting place anyway. He takes a moment to look around, checking over himself to see if there are any bizarre mutations, and once satisfied, he looks around the room. He notes multiple sensors, and is sure one of them will detect his arrival, so he reasons two to five minutes before the guards charge in. So, that's how much time he has to make his observations. He passes by a desk, and idly picks up a clipboard off the table. He gets a clean sheet of paper on the top, and uses a pin to start scrawling down notes. The clipboard and pin look comically undersized in his Space Marine sized hands, but he's used to working with this scale of equipment. "Appears to be a binary diometrics core using opposed artifacts as a catalyst," Damocles notes, quickly sketching an engineering diagram based on what he sees, labeling parts of it here and there. Of particular note, one of the two pieces of the core seems to be growing in prominence. That's concerning, though he doesn't know yet if that's normal. It's possible that the two pieces ebb and flow in position, but it's also possible that the core is being so taxed running the defenses, that it's beginning to destabilize. If it's the former, then there's nothing to worry about, aside from the guards who will inevitably rush in to detain him. If it's the latter however, they're all in a lot of trouble. Given the power throughput he's seen here, if this thing destabilizes, it could take out this whole island, and everyone on both sides. Well, best to assume the worst and hope for the best, then. Damocles continues making observations, looking at the displays and equipment, and also peering with his own arcane sight to see what he can see, while recording his notes on the clipboard. His goal is pretty simple: To quickly stitch together enough understanding of how this works, to A) Figure out if it's actually going to explodes, and B) If it is, put together a plan for how to stabilize it again.
Cantio	At last he does't hate her for this. There's some small relief in that, although it doesn't change the fact that she still needs to focus on not getting her head caved in by whatever he decides to throw at her next. In this case, he decides to throw Guzma's giant bug at her after using it to defend himself against her attacks, forcing her to pull back each time and interrupting her general flow. That moment's hesitation is enough to catch her onto the Golisopod, and the following charge from Eryl creates a rather unpleasant tangle of bodies. Thankfully, Guzma recalls the bug, giving her an opportunity to extract herself from the pile to get some distance and regain her bearings. It's also a moment for her to try and digest what Guzma's saying to Eryl as well as what the Tempest members are saying in their own battle, and that transmission from (presumably) the residents of the tower that has her weighing her options for later. As the Scizor appears, Cantio once again moves in with her noise-spewing blade. It's an unpleasant noise, to be sure, and certainly not a natural sounding one as it shifts constantly between unnerving rumbling and teeth-ringing tones. She opens her mouth to say something, but stops herself to instead focus on the fight. Best not to say anything that would just rile Guzma up further or worse, turn his aggression against her. Noting Guzma's shift in strategy with the Scizor, Cantio continues going on the offensive. Her attacks seem to be focusing more on thrusts, however, and even deliberately trying to wedge her weapon against Eryl before twisting and jerking the blade sideways. She doesn't seem quite so worried about breaking theb lade entirely, and it even appears that she's trying to dislodge his limbs and maximize contact with the blade and its noise rather than outright slashing him as she had before.
Tamamo no Mae	This Diter person/thing is a tough cookie, but when Gaile starts with that golden ray from that strange gun, that gets the fox a bit 'worried'. Thinking about it too hard, she doesn't make it out of the barreling person in time, the blasts ram right into her and the swing of that blunt end finds purchase on the Caster, sending her wobbling backwards. Well, that one was going to get her wrath now. "Strange gun you have there. Not as eloquent as my Husband's weapon." Tamamo drops some talismans around the area as she backs up, letting them just fall from the sleeves of her outfit as her mirror floats in front of her some more, a red glow to it. "Curse. Firey Heaven~!" she whispers out, eyeing the four as rays of fire wash out towards the four, to burn them and to ease up the damage to her allies. "I think you need to have a time out now!" she frowns, "Strange, Thief... this should help." she calls out towards her allies. At least, she hopes it'll help.
Archer EMIYA	"So it's like that then." Archer doesn't refute the claim that he's here to hurt people, mostly because it's right. He attempts to push the sword harder into her hand when she catches it, only to be caught off guard when she aims to kick him back into the elevator. She can probably feel the part of chest she kicked harden in response, but it doesn't do much good as he's still sent flying into the open elevator. He disappears with the elevator in a flash once she hot wires it, the sound of it crashing being heard as he probably died painfully via crushing like she planned... Yeah right. The red clad Archer drops back down with a thud on one knee, a new red, jagged sword in hand as his skin and outfit are covered in minor burns. There's a loud, almost metal-like noise that fills the air as he picks himself back up. It's probably his joints, but joints really shouldn't sound like that. "So. You don't know. And as far as I'm aware, you probably don't know 'why' either." Archer points the odd sword at them, the blade lighting ablaze. He takes another step, though this time rather than going directly at them, he runs past, spinning around last moment as he attempts to slash at her side. "If I didn't know any better, you made yourself this way just to make it as annoying for anyone to get a motive out of you."
Doctor Strange	THE FUTURE Strange is absolutely willing to play messenger boy, because he's the only one who can do it in this particular fashion. The safest way to do it is to weave it in with the fight, instead of daisy-chaining loops together. That's honestly something these tower guys would do. "Ok. New message. God, this is gonna be aannoying... I have my own suspicions about what happened and why. Believe me, I'm working on getting those douchebags out of here so we can talk about this in peace." Then there's Casko. "There's also a +1 who might come, or who might be another problem we'll have to deal with, and the ball's in your court on that one. So, can you tell me anything substantial about why you set up shop here, of all places, and why this place is so important that you couldn't have just done the same work in a mobile camp?" He summons a pair of hatches and vanishes, satisfying the loop by switching place with the Present!Strange in a flash of green light, who then asks the question which was asked three minutes ago. Don't think about it too hard. THE PRESENT Strange's hatchets cut into Diter as Tamamo asks him for some information. He's gotta keep her on their side, for now--these guys are used to fighting Elites, and the only way any useful information is coming from that tower is if these Tempest guys are gone. So, as Sevra blurs into position, he provides some, his hatchets serving to deflect only her weapons. Those invisible counter-forces caused by her own defenses--those he has to put in extra work for, conjuring spot-mandalas with rapid finger mudras and extraneous swings of those hatchets. "They're here researching what happened four years ago," says the Strange who appears to take the place of the other. "I'm asking them why they can't do that somewhere else." Just then, his grip is forced wide open. He knows what's coming next, and prepares just in the nick of time. Dropping the hatchets, he conjures up two large, glowing orange discs, each comprised of several rings of slowly rotating sigils. Then two more. Then another two, forming just as those swords press their attack. The shield shatters, Strange vanishes, choosing that exact moment to venture into the future. Meanwhile, his replacement arrives with a spear in hand, batting away several swords only to be struck by the tail end of the attack, a sword nicking his abdomen in the defense. The conjured spear bears a ribbon which seems to distort the air around it like a mirage, and he makes use of this illusion to great effect as he swipes, parries and stabs with the weapon. His stance is perhaps overly ornamental, his legs extending behind him, making seemingly unnecessary kicks. They seem unnecessary, until Sevra realizes that he's casting with his feet--Tamamo and Robin will note that some small measure of healing magic is tossed their way, in between his own struggles. THE FUTURE Strange arrives 3 minutes from the most recent message he sent. What do the Tower nerds have to say now?
Nanoha Takamachi	Nanoha is not so sure there's anything quite that aggressive here. These complexes seem more like places to go when everything is fine, when the island isn't being sieged, with security only to turn away nosey neighbours. The tower is probably where everything important is located. Nanoha says as much as she looks around, "I don't think there is much here to grab..." She then turns her head in the direction of the distant sounds of battle, "Plus I'm a little worried about the others..." Nanoha thinks for a moment, before looking back at Tomoe, "I'm going to go and help them." Nanoha bows briefly to Tomoe, "Thanks for your help with the defenses here. If you decide to continue looking around, I wish you good luck!" While Nanoha cannot bear to leave her allies without her support any longer, this is not Tomoe's fight. So Nanoha doesn't expect her to join in. Nanoha slowly lifts up off the ground, turning her head to look at her staff, "Come on, Raising Heart. Let's go give them some support." The Device chimes back in response, <Caution, Master. The sniper-> Nanoha smiles and cuts off her Device, "I have an idea for that. Don't worry!" Nanoha suddenly blasts upwards, an aura of pink flaring up around her as she arcs over to head back towards the beach area. Unlike her more sedate scouting pace getting here, she's really putting in the speed. It shouldn't take long to get back.
Robin Sundance	It's not the charge that gets him. Speed and size are something he long since learned had no correlation. Something big could be fast, and something fast could be strong. No, he'd accounted for that - he'd already seen the man come swinging out of his blind spot, after all. The first thrust he parries elegantly, bringing up the Rifler Cane to catch it and drive it sideways. The second thrust he spins out of, gently nudging it away with his hand. The third thrust he ducks under- - and the fourth thrust he eats straight in the chest. There's an absolute explosion of sparks. He goes spinning, flying, hitting the ground hard and fast. He tumbles. There's a trail in the sand. That could've gone better, yes. It takes him a moment to recover himself, as Strange and Caster draw attention. Good enough. His head spinning, he drags himself to his feet and wavers. What he needed was not, then, speed. Speed would not avail him against 'Diter.' Speed would not avail him against 'Gaile' or 'Sevra.' 'Diter' could simply hammer him down once the other two were taken care of, and Gaile and Sevra were both accurate and fast enough to make him expend energy. What he needed was strength and endurance. What he needed was raw stopping power. What he needed was... He pulls another key, jams it into the side of the belt buckle, and spins the wheel. B-B-B-B-BANDIT! He whirls the cane overhead as the armor changes. The key-shaped antennae flatten out and bend backwards. The armor turns a dingy-looking, faded red. Cracks appear. The tails shimmer to torn flags. The boots shift into patterns like ashigaru. But that's not the part that matters. The part that matters is that what once was a grappling hook is now a meteor hammer. It whirls through the air with ease, a loud, bomb-dropping whistle. "Monsieurs et madamoiselles!" And that's all he says as he whirls the hammer straight into Gaile, to knock her into Sevra, to knock them both into Diter as hard as he possibly can.
The Janitor	Before Archer's landed, the bleak Janitor is already scooping up some of the spilled exotic fuel in her plastic water bottle and giving it a vigorous shake. Of course she wouldn't assume that'd finish him. When he rushes past her, there's no attempt at defense- but when he does that pivoting spin, she shoves the fuel-bottle onto his sword and then rolls away, sticking the luminous improvised grenade right onto his weapon at the cost of her left hand getting bruised by the flat of the strike. "You have that voice," she says, ducking into cover behind an empty container as the bottle-grenade goes off in some blinding, hideously energetic reaction. Continuing as if nothing had happened: "In the back of your head. Telling you... swerve into oncoming traffic. Step off that ledge. Stab that guy in the neck." Salvaging a sharp bit of metal and a piece of supertech rebar, she ducks back out into the open again to assess the damage. "And you just can. Nothing stops you."
Tomoe	Tomoe pauses for a moment at Nanoha as she's staring to exit it might just be someone's hobby lab from the tower, that much is true. "Right you deployed here with quite a few other Paladins didn't you?" She looks at the lab for a moment then looks at Nanoha. "This looks like it could be a bust, yeah but it still says something about this place at least. If this is just a side thing they still had the resources to spare on a defence system like those golems." She sights watching as NNanoha goes off to go back to her comrades. "Damn it..." She didn't know Nanoha very well but leaving her to run off like this? She's a powerhouse sure. The thing is Tomoe is a tank and there might be more answers that way too. She can't just let the DPS run off alone like that sigh It's like she's dealing with Kirito all of a sudden... Her wings flare out and she flies after Nanoha.
Eryl Fairfax	Eryl regards Guzma impassively as he touches his wounded side. The skin visible through the tear in his clothes is bruising from the venom but he doesn't seem too concerned. "You're right. You don't fit in. And even if you did, I don't think you would want to. But there's value in that. People are ever and always drawn to the 'outside.' And I don't think your particular brand of it is all that awful. When other gangs are putting guns in the hands of children, stealing bus signs and other thuggish mischief is nothing." He looks out at the sea and carries on, his voice softening. "But a king can't be brash like this. Did you hear what came over the loudspeakers? The people of this tower claim to have information on the reality quakes. It didn't matter how strong you were; everyone suffered back then. Had I let you all rush in and burn the place down, that information would have been lost, information that could save lives in the future." He turns again, and raises his arms in a proper fighting stance. "Even if it's a bluff, or the information is only a scrap, it's more than what we have. And building from there for the sake of everyone is what civilisation is all about. I can't let it be lost; too many lives could be riding on it." Scizor's pincers sink into Eryl's stomach, his muscles and implants pushing back. Cantio's humming blade thrusts and the Grandmaster seemingly collapses... no. He's bending his knees low, causing his body to become parallel to the ground. He's exposed to the harsh tone, but avoids the cut. And even from this precarious position , he launches a kick upwards that catches Cantio's blade and Scizor's fist both, knocking them both up and blowing open their guards. What follows is a systemitc flurry of blows on program and Pokemon both. A left hook to Scizor followed by the right, turning the elbow just-so that it smashes into Cantio's face. A knee up into Scizor's torso, knocking it back so he can rush down Cantio with a flurry to the liver, solar plexus, and jaw. A rushing elbow to knock Scizor down, then twisting and driving his full back against Cantio, the fabled tetsuzanko full-body check.
Penumbra	Tamamo's insistence on continuing conversation with the mage of the group, still as of yet unnamed by his allies, spares the three engaged in combat the no-doubt withering artillery support of the caster. Furthermore, Diter's abstract, genre-less 'protective effect' isn't covering him nearly as much, with the man's focus on bludgeoning and skewering Robin, leavin him with only the generalities of Elite willpower to go on. "I'm sure you've heard it called something else already. Of the Six Ways from the heart of Sector Zero, from which the structure of the whole Superplanet originates, this is the fifth. The numbers are arbitrary, but the divisions are not. The last four years --a clean reset-- have given some of us --when we were trying to be the Unifiers-- the unprecedented opportunity to map these networks from scratch. Things that bigger powers weren't interested in over their other concerns, incidentally picking up pieces here and there that we've put together." "This tower is one of several beacons of hubris the Seekers still hold. Our assault has driven them out of many of their ill-gotten holds already. But we can't rest until this cursed knowledge is purged completely. They're well on the path to repeating exactly what happened in the past, when others became obsessed with 'optimizing' themselves and their surroundings with every piece of the Multiverse they could reach, and we've already seen what kind of disaster that makes. You should understand knowledge that people shouldn't be meddling with." Damocles in the core/study room has his time. Looking at the records, it seems he's stumbled into nothing less than a den of obsessives. The Tempest squad leader outside hadn't exaggerated; everything on the tables is some degree of far-fetched theorizing about unified theories, trying to jam together equations and phenomena from a staggeringly large number of different 'techbases'. They universally seem to be fixated on the strange core sample, comparing their work to the vast readings from it as a sort of Rosetta Stone, trying to make them match. It doesn't seem as if it's about to explode, but it appears to be highly unstable even in its rest state. Damaging the core pillar haphazardly would be a very bad idea while people are still on the island. Strangely, however, is arcane sight is of perplexingly little use on it. He picks up magic. Lots of it. All kinds. A soup of so many micro-magical patterns that it is no type of magic at all. And that nothing-magic is only a partial intersection of a larger, abstract sense of 'power' and 'energy' that doesn't match anything he's aware of. Also, all of the papers contain a lot of hexagons, and a lot of divisions of six.
Archer EMIYA	Archer attempts to throw away his sword the moment he realizes he's set up the bomb. He's a bit late on the draw though, but he avoids the absolute worst of it. When the flame cloud settles, he's completely discarded his red mantle, his skin covered in small patches of charred flesh. "More human than machine. Throwing away empathy. Your own happiness. Everything. I suppose in a sense, we're not too unalike." As The Janitor peaks out to assess the damage, she's immediately greeted with one of the many sword floors springing up, flying full force towards her face. A raw projectile with absolutely zero skill behind it. "Though in this case, I suppose I'm a bit of a failure. Or depending on the perspective, you're the failure. I guess it depends on how you feel about it."
Guzma	Somehow, Eryl's words turn Guzma's anger from a hot blaze into a cold fire. He's still pissed, but... "I agree with them." Is what he says, calmly, sweating from the energy being put off. "The world is battle - that's fact in mine. Power is the key? Fact. And...most importantly..." "They've been betrayed. And I know how that feels. So I'm not going to back down after having told them I'd help them. If that burns the answers to hell? So be it. We'll forge our own answers next time, instead of research from a bunch of eggheads." Scizor is hooked left, right, and smashed into Cantio, which causes it to look briefly apologetic before it moves to bring claws up. The knee to the torso is blocked, and instead of being knocked down, Scizor jabs into the elbow, not as an attack, but as a defense. "If you're really the man they say you are...you'll survive this. I gotta show them my power, and you're in my way! SCIZOR!" Scizor knows what's coming. The fist is pulled back, as it makes distance... "BULLET PUNCH!" Scizor dashes forward, fast enough to leave sand kicking up behind the mantis. The pulled back fist moves to slam Eryl straight in the chest, strong enough to crack the ribs of a mundane man, thanks to the Swords Dance power-up. They're not holding back, but Eryl also doesn't feel any real 'killing intent'. They expect that he can handle this.
The Janitor	The Janitor neatly blocks the clumsy sword-throw by clashing it out of the air with her rebar cudgel, though the way her arm bends to do so hints it's strained some muscles in the process from the raw force of the projectile. She steps in, now closing to melee with palpable murderous intent. "I guess it depends on how you feel about it." "I don't." What follows is a simple, cruel, inventive beatdown. Jane Doe has no discernable style, no technique; she never fishes for an opening for a preconceived attack and never repeats the same maneuver twice. She just intuits, and what she intuits is always brutally effective. Smash the side of the knee with the rebar, aiming to hobble the joint. Duck low, spring forward and try to jam the sharp shrapnel-dagger between ribs. Twist around, step behind him, sling the rebar in front of his neck and pull to try and choke him out. If he pulls away, shank him in the kidney as a parting gift. She's not even breathing hard yet; though she's slightly injured, the pain doesn't register. If his hearing is sharpened enough, Archer might be able to pick up her heartbeat. Sixty beats per minute, dead steady.
Penumbra	In the brawl against the Tempest Elites, the battlefield continues to heat up, even as the defensive resistance of the Unified Tower continues to wither and wane with the destructive rampages within and around it. Caster's curse of fiery pillars catches Gaile dead on, the woman firing a grapnel line from her wrist to yank herself free a split second before being completely torched, and even then having to detach and discard still-smouldering pieces of melted and reeking battle rattle from her tactical harness. She leaves it in the dirt. Just like the couple of grenades left at the Caster's feet a second ago. Both explode momentarily. The bizarre rifle remains unscathed, though the amount of shooting she has done has left its rough-hewn, stony-crystalline core, shaped like an internal rod, glowing with heat --one she swiftly ejects and replaces with a fresh one so that she can turn and sight it on Nanoha coming back. She sprays an automatic blast of anti-air fire, but has little hope of hitting a true aerial ace. Pulling and snapping the marble components into another pattern, this time she fires several bright fuschia flashes, launching glassy 'beads' of shimmering distortion into the air, surrounded by small shrieking whirlwinds that telegraph their presence, as the air around them is constantly sucked in and unmade. They chase Nanoha like guided missiles. At times, she'd get the impression she can see through them into somewhere else. Robin changing forms now finds that he has the power to finally put a dent in Diter. He can tell especially because, this time, Diter begins actively angling his shield to block him. Rapid strikes from his meteor hammer continuously contact the walls of mystery energy that Diter summons with each thrust of his shield, angled carefully and punched forward viciously to bounce and deflect as much of his attack as possible. Each time it is re-summoned however, Robin can see where small hexes have broken off, creating increasing numbers of growing holes. Stray strikes dent and crush bits of armour. Diter remains relentless all the same. He fires several more of those stacking forcefield-columns Robin's way, then rockets fired from his armour launch him a great ways into the air, from which he comes back down with a meteoric, thunderbolt slam. Where his spear strikes into the ground, the earth for meters around distorts and twists, like fabric caught in a drill, then abruptly implodes and turns to dust and fine plasmatic sparks. Robin feels the forwards drag of space pulling in, then the explosive aftermath coming back.
Penumbra	Strange trying to battle Sevra hand to hand, blade to blade, is not going well. This woman registers as neither a mook nor a miniboss, but a full blown combat specialist, and he's engaging her in her primary arena of expertise. She wears a perpetual expression of mildly brow-lofted intrigue with each of his parries and thrusts, as if entertained by his ability to fend her off, and even stab back, but it feels like she's sussing him out. She's faster, stronger, and seems to have many years more experience with a sword than he does as a Sorcerer. Furthermore, her weapon is completely absurd. It takes a healthy dose of Strange's multitasking and precognition abilities to keep track of it, and there's no real middle ground between evading its phantom edge and being cleanly cut open by it as far as it touches him. His few jabs and thrusts that get through are evaded at the very last instant by expert twists and turns, his attacks coming centimeters from landing, but amounting to little more than counter pressure. He's eventually maneuvered with his back to a wall --and then Sevra suddenly backs off, leaping back to his ideal range --not hers. She twirls her sword and reverses it into a 'sheathed' position at her side, then twists both hands to separate and lengthen the grip, then slams it back together. Several points in thin air --the last several places she'd attacked-- suddenly split open as if cut, briefly giving him a glimpse of Somewhere Else before the effect of space imploding the gashes shut again shoots back out as a flurry of vacuum blades. Strange's future response comes, and it's more interested in talking about the subject matter than it should be under the circumstances. "Why else would we build here? To study the phenomena of unification, one should be as close as possible to where worlds unify, obviously! Asides, the blank space of this region of Sector Zero --the unformed, neutral substrate all around us-- is ideally receptive to measuring any effectual imprint of items brought from other worlds to-- no, that's beside the point right now! There's too much here that isn't portable! Even if we evacuate right now, we can't just leave all of this behind! They'll destroy it all! Believe me! As soon as we made strides in the Throne-Arms program, it all went to hell!"
Cantio	"Are you looking to use that information? The technology that they might hold the secrets to in there?" It's a question of genuine curiosity rather than insult, and it doesn't take a lot to figure out from that alone that Cantio might have her own designs for whatever's in there. "It'd certainly be a boon if all they said was true, but... That's a large if, Grandmaster. You heard the... Them." She gestures towards the Tempest members vaguely. "If this information really is such a game changer, do you think people can be trusted with it again if they're what cuased the quakes?" Guzma's comment about eggheads, sadly, goes uncommented on. Her jaw stiffens visibly at that, but she's doing a passable job at keeping that bottled up. Pressing what appeared to be the advantage only puts Cantio in the hot seat as Eryl's maneuver launches herself upwards long enough that he lands several direct hits on her, throwing her for a loop with the blow to the head long enough that she only manages to brace herself for the multiple blows from all angles. By the time the body check comes, she has just enough wherewithal to go with the hit instead of pushing back against it, although it doesn't feel any better getting tossed back off her feet again. "I can't say that I really share Guzma's views on..." She mutters incoherently for a moment, then shakes off her sword as the vibrating noises stop and it just starts sizzling instead. "... But I can empathize with where he's coming from." She starts to say something else, but stops herself and lingers like that for another awkward moment before shutting up entirely and gripping her weapon with both hands as the front edge starts glowing outright. "Prepare yourself! I'll settle this with one blow!" Holding the sword out to her side, Cantio takes a stance not unlike someone trying to look like a more classically-styled samurai, sword braced in front of her with her eyes closing steadily. She waits for a very specific moment, listening for the sound of the Scizor striking at Eryl. She hears the attack, and she moves in to follow it up with a single slash of her own. Coming in from the side, she raises the sword high, even shouting in time with the slash coming down at Eryl diagonally. There's no fancy footwork, no distracting effects, just a firm slash aimed at cleaving right into or through him. The laser on the front of the blade might help a little with that.
Nanoha Takamachi	Nanoha's approach is noticed! Not had, given she's a pink streak blasting through the air. It's her Device that chimes in at the sight of Gaile firing towards her. But Nanoha replies, "I see it!" She starts juking left and right, trying to weave her way through the fire. But that's only the beginning, as a series of what look to be holes in reality home in on her. Nanoha quickly swerves as the distortions begin to follow her. She rockets through the air with them following, constantly altering her course to keep them from reaching her. But just evading them isn't going to do her much good, so Nanoha calls out, "Raising Heart!" The staff in her hand chimes, <Intercepting.> Several pink orbs appear in the air around Nanoha, before blasting away and heading towards those distortions. What follows is an aerial dance through the skies as Nanoha flies along, the distortions following her to try and rip her apart, while Nanoha's own shots follow them. Soon enough they manage to catch up, exploding with magic to disperse the distortions. This dogfight continues until only one distortion remains. It catches up to Nanoha, the mage's boots starting to disintegrate as they are pulled into the hole. But finally her own shot catches up and there's an explosion right behind as the two powers explosively rip each other apart. Nanoha slows to a hover, taking a deep breath after that rather exhausting series of maneuvers. She's a little singed from where the two attacks collided. Her eyes scan over the battlefield as she takes in the positions of her allies and those Tempest agents. In particular, Nanoha turns her focus on the one that fired those shots at her. As far as Nanoha's concerned, she's the greater threat to the Aerial Mage at this point. Nanoha looks at her staff, her partner and friend, "Alright, Raising Heart. Let's do this!" The Device chimes in response, <Affirmative. Blaster One.> Two remote bits shaped like the head of Nanoha's staff materialize floating in the air around her. A pink spell circle manifests below her, Nanoha floating down to land upon it. She slides her feet out, lowering her body as she levels the staff to point down towards Gaile on the ground below. A spell ring appears around the staff's tip, pink magic beginning to gather into an orb just beyond it. Nanoha's clothes and hair begin to move as the air around her is whipped up by the gathering power. Finally, Raising Heart chimes, <Photon Smasher.> While Nanoha follows up with, "Nanoha Takamachi, engaging!" The orb bursts, quickly spreading into a large beam of pink energy that rockets down towards Gaile's position. Whether it strikes her or not, it digs a large gash into the terrain as it strikes, ripping up and vaporizing the ground.
Damocles	Damocles is grateful to discover that it doesn't seem like things are going to explode anytime soon, so long as he doesn't start kicking stuff over. At least not according to these records he's glimpsed, that suggest what he's seeing is more or less how things have been. Even more to the amusement of the sorcerer, the work that seems to have been going on here, is almost exactly the work Damocles himself has been conducting independently at his own research base. Attempts to rationalize magical theory from different universes into one underlying principle. They're looking for exactly what he's looking for. The window that they could peer outside of the entire vast array of existence, and catch a glimpse of the whole of existence in reflection. And they think these two artifacts will show it to them. The theory is sound, Damocles reckons. It doesn't matter where you start, if you're trying to map a unified theory of arcana, then any entry point will eventually lead to every other point. Damocles himself started with the Immaterium because that's what he had access to, but here, they had this. However, they've failed, and seem to have been failing for a long time. It's clear why, at least to the Chaos sorcerer: Perspective. Locked away as this has been, they were never going to find the answers here. Whatever they're missing, they won't find it here. What they need is more experience. Different ideas. Different ways of thinking. Different ways of thought. And what Damocles needs, is time. Time to process what he's seen. Well, guess that means its time to make a call and see if he can buy some. He's sure this room must have a phone, or intercom, or something nearby. He searches for one, with the intention of calling up whomever happens to be running this show, and cutting a deal. Whether they win or lose today, their work is not secure in this location anymore. Maybe he can help arrnage a new one.
Robin Sundance	Bandit Form has enough power to hit him, but not enough speed to evade him, and probably not enough defense to survive him. The hit from the forcefield would leave him broken for sure if he let it come in, nevermind Diter himself. B-B-B-BURGLAR! Thief returns to his original armor - and the Rifler back to its grappling gun form - as the forcefields come rippling in. He flicks the weapon back and fires it at one of the standing defenses, one of the pillboxes further up the way. The forcefields narrowly graze his leg - and when Diter comes down, the drag pulls on him, but it can't bring him all the way in. Only the lightest, barest sparks manage to land on him - nothing like the destructive spear-strike.. Two fingers come up to his head in a salute. Thief grabs the pillbox's gun, flips upwards, and handstands. He does another over-exaggerated bow when he lands on the pillbox turret. Then he turns around and waves at the defense drones. He waits for them to get a targetting lock on him. The instant they have it, he turns and runs straight at Diter. Lines of explosions and bullets and lasers follow him down the beach. Sand erupts. It glasses over. Debris is burned to a crisp. Thief backflips, handstands, frontflips, and rolls through the oncoming fire as he makes a beeline for Diter with as much of the base's firepower as he can bring to bear tracking directly behind him. He jumps over Diter. B-B-B-BANDIT! In mid-jump, he changes to Bandit Form, the faded red, the ashigaru patterns, the tattered coattails - and, more importantly, the Rifler Meteo. He's front-flipping. The hammer comes swinging up from under Diter, grinding along the ground. Thief lands with an explosion of sand around him as the hammer swings up to meet Diter's back and push him directly into the path of, well, the entire base defense at once.
Tamamo no Mae	"Any new info, Strange? I'm thirsty here." the fox calls out towards the other magician.. at least until Gaile 'runs' away from that... at least most of her gear melted... save for the grenades that are dropped there from that harness. They explode and Tamamo eats it right there... no real time to brace or run from it so she just steels herself for the explosion, walking out of the smouldering pile, scathed heavily from the attack, clothes ripped here and there. "Sooner rather than later, Strange." She eyes Gaile, following... she could use her Noble Phantasm right here but, she'd catch so many who don't need to... and in this area, who knows if it'd work properly, so she opts for the next best thing. "You want to run?" Tamamo kneels down a bit, aiming herself towards Gaile... before literally launching herself towards them in a series of rapid executed hits from her mirror, kicks and even a punch or two thrown in there. It doesn't last too long, just a couple seconds but she returns to her position on the ground from her Extella Maneuver. She's panting hard, she doesn't really like expelling so much energy, but they're making her work for it.
Eryl Fairfax	"You would risk all that, for people you just met? Because of common betrayal and growth through conflict?" Eryl sounds... angry. He's not yelling, his face isn't scrunching up. He's angry in the way that a 'we need to talk' message is angry. Impersonal, suggestive of possibly anything. His arms come up as Scizor rushes him, arms protecting his body from the onslaught of blows. A steady staccato of chitin meeting metal fills the beach. Inch by inch, the Grandmaster slides back, enduring the onslaught. As Cantio rushes in from the side, he shifts his guard slightly, raising his arm and shoulder to block the brunt of the strike. The blade sinks through metal and severs something important in his mechanics, while also nicking his body and deepening the wound he got from Golisopod.. The arm doesn't quite go limp, but it begins to give more and more against the Pokemon's punch rush. But like an earthquake, his stillness gives way to violent movement. His elbows come down as Scizor's punches sink, pushing its pincers down and aside. In that moment, he brings his good arm around in a vicious smack, aimed not to do damage but to shove the Pokemon aside. At the same time, his weaker arm reaches out towards Cantio, his body following it in a sidelunge so he may sneak it around her neck and cinch down, aiming to put her in a headlock. And with Cantio as a burden, he charges at Guzma. Dragging the girl behind him, lifting her fully off her feet if need be, he approaches the Pokemon trailer like a train approaches a car stuck on the stacks. Plumes of sand leap up behind him before he drops low, sliding to a halt just before ya boy. And then explodes upwards in the most vicious, brain-rattling, jaw-breaking, flip-making rising knee you've ever seen, aimed square at Guzma's chin. After his assault ends, Eryl discards Cantio and stares daggers at them both. "Before you become the king of everything, rule over the domain you have with more care and sense." Next, he addresses Cantio. "As for you, grow a spine for goodness sake."
Doctor Strange	"They won't leave because they're too dug in." It certainly isn't going well. Inevitably, he will want to win--and thus he'll have to switch tactics. "And this place is important because it's close to Sector Zero." But, these guys are evidently quite used to working as a squad, and the longer he keeps trying to beat her at her own game, the more time she'll spend fighting him, confident that she'll win--the more time he gets to study her fighting style, without getting interrupted by another tag-out. If he wants to drive this home, he'll need to goad her into making a move first, into playing what she feels is one of her better cards. He's seen the swords--what else has she got? Throughout the fight, he's forced to peer into likelihoods, yank himself out of harm's way, or rely on his memory to perfectly recall a piror attack pattern. "If these guys get in there, they'll burn the place to the ground. That's all I got." In essence, this spear is 'all he's got--' punching way above his weight class, outside his expertise, using trickery. It's very, very familiar territory--which is why despite clearly being at a disadvantage, the Sorcerer Supreme persists... Until his back hits the wall. His grip shifts slightly. An illusion and an intangibility spell are cast in an instant. Strange appears to remain in exactly the same spot, eyeing her warily. This illusory Strange baits her with a panicked charge, attempting to impale her with the fake spear. The real Strange, embedded in the rock, swaps places with his temporal clone to make the most recent bit of conversation. The new present!Strange emerges from the ground and casts a spell at the precise moment wherein the illusion is shattered by the vortex blades. This is his one chance to bump this squad down a member. Icy, thorned tentacles erupt from the ground, attempting to grasp Sevra and paralyze her with venomous ichor which drips from their thorns. As the Icy Tendrils of Ikthalon attempt to subdue her, Strange has another spell ready: A portal, to the middle of the Great Ocean. He flings it her way, and vanishes in a flash of green light. FUTURE: One last message for the tower. "Word of advice, from a guy with a fortress and a lot of cool toys: fortresses are an invitation. People always, always, always take it as a challenge, and it doesn't matter how many cool toys you have on your wishlist--if they can make it into a battle of attrition, they win. Don't take what I'm saying as a challenge to tack more goofy shit on your tower. Take it as friendly advice that you should start making a list of which things you can afford to part with, and which you can't. If I were you, I'd start making that list now, and moving what I could--because those Tempest guys really want what's in there, and so do some of the guys who followed us here."
Archer EMIYA	"Let's test just how much you don't feel then? Shall we?" Archer pays the price for smug posting as The Janitor's rebar bar connects with his knee, causing it to disjoint, even so, he forces himself to stand, even if it means he has to take the rest of the attack. "Many paths, converge here." Probably understandably due to the pain he's in, he's speaking tongues. She ducks low, the makeshift dagger penetrating his armor and ribs, basically letting happen and not bothering to pull back, not that he can reliably do so with his broken knee. He coughs blood, though it's not from punctured lungs. There's a sinister aura in the air. "Enduring, desires flow here." When she finally backs off on her own, Archer raises a single hand, gripping at nothing. Magical synapses fire off in his head, filling his body with pain comparable to having a dozen hot rods shoved into muscles. Between what he's doing and the shape he's in, it's a surprise that he hasn't passed out. "Unjust deaths, gather here." There's a flash of green, an outline of a katana in its sheath appearing as it's suddenly filled in. He pulls the blade out, the blade erupting in flames as he does so. "My...Our whole lives have been for this single swing." Archer's approach is a weird combination between a hobble and a dash as he brings the sword down and across. He's basically letting the sword guide him at this point, the weapon's massive destructive erasing the surrounding area as he does so. "The heart of the blade is here!"
Guzma	For a moment, Guzma was cooling. But he can hear the anger in Eryl's voice. He doesn't have a response, because Eryl's kinda right, but it's burning up again. But then- Scizor is shoved away, and Guzma is attacked. As the knee comes up, Guzma should be hit straight on. But...he can already sense the anger. And that tenses him up. Guzma's arm goes to block the way. In one blow, his left arm is broken, hurtling to the ground in pain. Scizor grunts, and is about to attack Eryl again, when Guzma calls out. "Scizor! Aid me!" As Scizor moves to lift up Guzma and help him leave, Guzma glares at him. "For a moment, I thought we'd come to an understanding. But you still think you're so high and mighty. Next time...I'll turn you to rust, and show you not to look down on me." And then, they move to escape, only stopping to make sure that the Tempest team doesn't get killed in the process.
Tomoe	Tomoe is manoeuvrable in the air but when it comes to raw speed as Nanoha has? It's like night and day, Tomoe is just left behind she has an idea of where Nanoha is going. She can't blame her, she's a stranger to her. Her friend and comrades are in one hell of a fight. Tomoe does keep after for the moment as what else can she really do. She chases after Nanoha but by the time she catches up she can only see the burst of magical energy in the distance being fired she just stares for half a second. "Woah..." Then she attempts to keep catching up with Nanoha.
Cantio	After putting her all into that strike, Cantio does an okay job at hiding how pleased she is with the fruits of her labors. That brief moment of elation fades, however, as Eryl pivots right from defense into offense, and there's barely any room for her to even attempt to dodge. That's not to say she does't try, but his sudden movement catches her off guard, and there's a pained choking noise as she's caught in that running grab. There's a couple of token efforts at struggling out Eryl's grip, of course, but her energy's spent. Her weapon, being as large as it is, isn't suited for countering such a point-blank maneuver. After the third or fourth minute of being dragged along (or at least what feels like several minutes), Cantio is sorely tempted ot just keep her eyes shut and await the inevitable. The inevitable never actually comes as, without any real warning, she finds herself dropped on the ground with Eryl glaring right at Guzma and herself. She looks like she might actually relax for a moment, but that ends immediately once Eryl speaks to her directly. She manages a terrified whimper in response, nodding a moment later while rooted firmly in place. She's probably going to be stuck there for a little while, but she's not going to be an immediate threat anytime soon.
The Janitor	Jane Doe is a human animal. If she took a good hit from a reality-erasing blade, or even a mundane bullet to the skull, she'd be dead before her body hit the floor. There is a real and genuine chance that right here, right now, her bleak and hollow life ends. And yet at the same time, that can't be true. How many times has she stared down the bullet just today, let alone in her life? Thousands of people have tried to end Jane Doe's life with a knife or gun; unknown dozens with some more esoteric instant-kill. She still lives. Maybe that's just dumb luck that'll run out someday. Maybe you've really got a chance at being the one to put her down, if you roll the dice. Maybe. Whatever impossibility or cruel twist of the universe that's kept her alive through every coinflip so far, it holds now. She twists in an implausible dodge, and the blade just grazes her cheekbone. Blood wells up to tinge the thin line red. An inch closer, a fraction of a second faster, and it might've split her head wide open. Maybe, maybe, maybe. She ought to be scared. She isn't, because her blackened little heart doesn't have room for that. It doesn't even have room for her to feel relief or triumph. She steps in and she swings her piece of rebar like a baseball bat, aiming to connect with Archer's head. He's tough, so she swings again. And again. And again. There's no breathing room now; no way to get her off or pause the assault. "You can run," she repeats tonelessly over the rebar's impacts. "Or I can beat you to death." She says it like a fact. Maybe it is.
Archer EMIYA	Archer's already borderline unconscious after swinging the sword from the combination of various sources of pain. He's more of a punch bag then an actual threat at this point, so The Janitor gets all her punishment in, with only a token resistance via using the sword to block, the weapon breaking in the onslaught. He falls to one knee at this point, pulling out his radio as he pushes a single button. From the looks of things, it's probably a distress button, he's not in any condition to be talking, much less moving.
Eryl Fairfax	Never a restful movement around here. Just as Eryl was hoping to catch his breath and staunch the bleeding, Original Face pings him to notify that Archer's distress signal is active. With a rattling sigh, he rushes off to the makeshift tunnel the Janitor had burrowed with reflected defences and descends. The destruction he finds at the bottom has him shook. Maglev elevators in flames, defences destroyed. And the Janitor, clutching a bloody piece of rebar. "That's enough!" he calls to her, before lowering his tone. Not respectfully, but warily. As one would talk to an approaching venomous snake. "He's done. Let me pick him up and get him out of here." The Janitor is a force of destruction. But walls this thick, defences this thick? Even they will slow her for a bit. He must surely have time before she gets inside and starts taking lives. Right?
The Janitor	When Archer stops trying to fight back, Jane Doe's offensive slackens, and then finally stops. She stands in front of him, breathing steadily, the piece of dented and bloody rebar hanging loosely from one hand. It isn't mercy. It feels, viscerally, like how a wolf won't try to eat something that's playing dead. After a pause of a few seconds, she squats down to his level, brushes the hair out of her face, pulls the brim of her cap up, and looks him- for the first time- in the eyes. Her irises are an uncanny yellow, biologically plausible and yet unsettlingly bestial. "You're getting there," she says quietly, though her toneless tone hasn't changed at all. "Keep it up." When Eryl arrives, she straightens back up, meeting his gaze too- for a moment- with those awful yellow eyes. "While you're gone, I'm going to hurt more people. Next time do it yourself." And then she turns to leave.
Penumbra	Damocles finds that the interior does have an intercomm. It isn't 'cognitohazard' encrypted, presumably because that'd be a step too stupid for trying to coordinate personnel and issue announcements inside their own base. He makes contact and precisely three minutes of [conversation] occur, before Strange's final message reaches them. Outdoors, Caster launches her patented Extella Maneuver on Gaile. Though neither of them are especially close combat fighters by trade, the exchange is swift and fierce. Gaile does her best to bend it off with elbow stops, arm sweeps, and the leverage of the length of her esoteric rifle, but the sheer ferocity involved causes mounting damage to sink in through every strike. The fox can feel the unnaturally hard surface that her kicks contact, and hear the whine of stressed and overheated servos in Gaile's arms. A full force Photon Smasher is going to be more than she can take; something that the rest of her squad is no doubt perfectly aware of. It's Diter's decision to protect himself or protect her, and he chooses the latter. He doesn't hesitate for a moment, giving Robin just the opening he needs to slip away, run the defensive circuit, and come right back. Diter boosts at maximum velocity to catch up to Gaile, and throws himself over her, using both his strange shield and his heavy armour to catch the blast. The furious conflagration of magic peels away layer after layer of forcefield, causing the finish on his plate suit to sizzle and melt --and no sooner has he begun pushing it back than Robin comes running right back in with the entire defensive aggro train on his tail, leading a crashing torrent of missile and magic fire straight into the man with his last second swerve. Illusory Strange is meanwhile cut to pieces, the real deal faking out his foe and launching the clincher attack from beneath. It should be where the tides finally turn decisively against the Tempest group. It's a perfect one two. Batter down the vanguard tank, pin the flank gunner, and displace the close combatant far away. But it doesn't go that way. It's a vanishingly rare occasion, to run up against an opponent whose whole powerset isn't obvious after the first few clashes, never mind one more than experienced enough to rise high up in any of the major factions. The icy, venomous tendrils leap out from every direction, encircling Sevra without a gap. She extends her lead leg, lowers her stance, slides her facing around a full quarter circle, and then fully snaps the blade back into its scabbard, connecting the two pieces of fragmented hilt together. They click like the double flick of a plastique detonator. The next instant, every single place that Sevra had swung that sword for the past three minutes becomes a slice from here to somewhere else, and collapses into a lethal vacuum blade. Hundreds of slashing arcs, hanging in the air like traps that'd been set over the whole battle, invisible and just now activated. The portal that Strange opens is split in half, then quarters, then torn to bits, somehow tangibly cleaved by the bizarre sword and technique. He's in the midst of a storm of every cut he'd previously avoided. The thorns are shredded, Sevra leaps clear and blurs back to the other two, barely visible by more than her trailing scarf.
Penumbra	She's in time to intercept, and bisect, the last couple of missiles about to knock Diter over completely and strike Gaile. The three bounce back, regaining a second wind and falling into formation. Diter turns his spear on Tamamo, thrusting it out, whereupon an explosive thunk causes it to nearly instantly quintuple in length. Then he swings the shield sidelong, and a hexagonal wave of force washes out sideways --a forcefield angled to cut everything in close range cleanly in half. Gail rolls across the sand, and from her position on the ground, sights past Diter from around his legs, drawing a bead on Robin as he finishes his acrobatic pass. The cylindrical, crystalline core of her rifle turns golden with heat, matched with a sharp, ominously building whine. The hexagonal muzzle flash explodes outward in concentric ripples of molten fire, breaking up into six starburst rays that scorch the area. A narrow cone of space shatters like glass, becoming a lengthy slash across the island where jagged pieces of sky and water, violently clash, tumble, and swirl, before reality can yank them back into place. It is not pleasant to be caught near. Following that, the beach briefly turns completely white, and every single object casts a lengthy, pitch black shadow. The skull-ringing BOOM follows just a second later, exploding spontaneously in the sky where Nanoha is, and showering the ground below with plumes of arcane fire and smoke, and the shattered remains of the magical circle that served only to contain and focus it. The mage lowers his staff from the back, having finally switched back to fire support. The whole team is moving together again. This is where they turn it around. They have stamina left. Tricks remaining. Synergy, teamwork, tactics. They have skill and experience, and all seem to have their blood up for the fight. They work far more smoothly together than any random assortment of Elites ever does on a regular operation; certainly more so than their foes. Their swelling confidence is palpable. This is it. The bizarre and dreadful feeling of being on the opposite side of a heroic turnaround. Of throwing out a concentrated effort, just to see the enemy bounce back and come at you with all the momentum. "We have an urgent update. Halo, Carmine, Fencer, Wrath, Seraph, Walker and Storm teams reported successes already, but Acid and Spark teams are on the verge of being wiped out. We're being redeployed." "Klars you can't be serious." replies Gaile. "I have the bastards dialed in! Come on!" urges Sevra. "I can handle plenty more. All four Thrones are working just fine." says Diter. But "Not up for debate." answers Klars. "We don't leave comrades behind, much less fellow disciples. Their lives come first, and we're the closest and most experienced responders." A 'but' isn't even vocalized. There's a silent, unhappy acceptance about the whole thing. "Fighting exfiltration. We'll compare notes later." The squad begins rapidly retreating back down the shattered beachhead, spraying the field behind them with magic, gunfire, and esoteric force waves. Trying to corner them would probably be an awful idea. Worse for the fact that just then is when future Strange loops back around and an evacuation alarm finally sounds from the Unified Tower. The eggheads inside have agreed to bail, and the dock will be vulnerable should one of the aforementioned successful Tempest teams, having won skirmishes against these 'Seekers' in other areas, swoop by to finish the job.
Eryl Fairfax	Eryl doesn't have much of a response to that. He briefly considers if there's much he can do. He could try to fight her. Archer probably wore her down. But he's worn down too. And that would mean two injured parties down here, with her. Could he bluff her? Say that the Tempest had no intent to pay her? No. While she does collect bounties sometimes, her actions don't align with someone who cares only for profit. It's about her bizarre intent to hurt people. To cause misery. Devestation. Destruction. Destruction... "I'm sure you will," he says to her as he lifts Archer's arm and drapes it across his shoulders and back, lifting the man to his feet. "But there are people out there too, you know. They're fighting for the hope of the Multiverse. To stop the people inside from setting off another reality quake. Remember those, four years ago?" It's not a lie, but it is a gamble. To tell her of this means telling her that the people inside the tower could have the means to do this, means she may wish to capture. It all depends on whether or not she follows the path of less resistance in her pursuit of seeing others hurt. Either way, he turns his back and starts helping Archer back to the warpgate.
Robin Sundance	Ah, satisfying. His first foray against the Multiverse and he had handled himself adequately. Perhaps not as well as he would've liked, but who ever does as well as they would like? Everyone would prefer to be perfect. No one can be. ELSEWHERE Gilgamesh sneezes. RIGHT HERE Diter falls back to defend Gaile; Sevra falls back to join Klars (a name Thief will file away for later), and the team squads up and starts firing. Ah, he could leave now. He could dance out of the line of fire. He could just...go, just leave, just get out of the way. Just...flee. Retreat! He'd be fine. He took some damage, but damage can be healed. That would be the smart thing to do. ... .... Ah, but it wouldn't be the Masked Ranger thing to do. B-B-B-BURGLAR! Masked Ranger Thief goes shooting forward, grapple gun in hand. His coattails flow around him like the trails in the sand he leaves behind. Molten fire glances off his armor, sparks trailing off him like a comet as it clings. He dodges left around the slash; the sky and the water collide on top of him, smashing into him at full tilt. The explosion is violent and dramatic. And he's riding it forward. It hasn't broken his stride at all. No, quite the opposite. In the last instant he blinks out, appearing directly in front of Sevra. "Merci beaucyou, belle~." And then he blinks out, back out of safe range. He untransforms with a snap of the belt. And he is beaten, raw, and bloody. His shirt is torn in a lot of places. There's scars across his cheek. There's blood running down his arm. His shoulder's smouldering. But he's grinning. He raises his hand. Sevra's scabbard is in it. In her hair is a rose. Two fingers go to his lips. He blows her a kiss and a wink. "Next time, madamoiselle, dance with me, oui? We will have so much more fun together." "And this time," He bows dramatically, blood dripping onto the sand, "I expect you will remember m'appelle, mais non?"
Damocles	"Hello, hello?" Damocles cheerfully says into the intercom once he's found it, wasting no time in contacting those above. There's no 'easy' way to break the ice here, so the sorcerer opts for diving in and working things out quick. "My name is Damocles, and I am currently in your research core. And before you panic, I have touched nothing, taken nothing, and I plan to disrupt nothing. In fact, your area of research, seeking the vast ocean that connects the tiny islands of reality we know of as universes, is one I have been studying extensively. I want to help preserve your work. Even if you do drive away those...loyalists, perhaps? Whatever they are, even if you beat them today, you know full well they'll be back, again and again, until you're undone. I can, perhaps, offer you what you desperately need right now: A way to move your work to somewhere more secure so it may continue."
Doctor Strange	Strange recalls every strike that's been made--but, damn it, he was really hoping those tendrils would stick. He knows, from the moment that he reappears to find that they haven't stuck, that Sevra can pull that trick again. What he didn't know is just how wide she could make the scope. It's a hasty shield, which is conjured, as his brow twitches in irritation. 'Dialed in?' No one dials him in. He grins, as the shield shatters, despite the searing pain of being subjected to every cut she made that entire fight, over again, his robes torn in several places. Still standing. "Yeah... no," he says, his breathing ragged. He utters a chuckle, but it hurts to do so. Clutching his chest, he extends his hand and forms a portal for Nanoha--beneath her, if need be, leading to the Aegis Astray's medbay. He makes another for himself, pausing. A giant message burns in the sky. NEXT TIME, I'M TAKING YOUR PHONE
Tomoe	Tomoe has been flying all out to catch up and she sees the battle isn't over just yet. She's a tank she sees herself as one and she'll charge at her top speed she pops several abilities she gains a gold glow as she's flying right for Nanoha to intercept the attack. "LOOK OUT!" She then only as she's caught in the attack as well she's not been hit by something quite like this in ages. It's too much and there's no way she can take all of it. She might lessen it for Nanoha. "What kind of power is ... this." Her armour is showing crack hell her body is distorting her and Tomoe soon is falling from the sky herself. She'll impact on the ground and unless she's stopped by someone else she'll end up crashing into the ocean.
Nanoha Takamachi	Nanoha's beam tapers off after having carved a trench into the ground and ripping into Diter's defense. Nanoha was expecting a counterattack from Gaile after that. The long range gunner the most likely to be able to reach Nanoha in the air. Most likely with another high powered shot like before. What Nanoha was not expecting was the unnamed mage to enter the battle. Unleashing a massive blast right next to her in such a short time. It's only Tomoe's warning that gives Nanoha and Raising Heart any chance of reacting to it. The intelligent Device chimes, <Layered Defense.> As Tomoe swoops in to take the brunt of the assault, it's still not enough. A runed barrier appears between Nanoha and the blast. Followed by another. And another. And another. But as the explosion quickly blossoms out, each barrier shatters in quick succession and Nanoha is engulfed in the blast. After the attack subsides, a smoking Nanoha can be seen plummeting out of the sky, unmoving. Apparently unconscious, her dress is in tatters. She continues to fall, right into the portal that Doctor Strange helpfully places beneath her. Even with Tomoe's intervention and a strong defense of her own, the Tempest attack has knocked Nanoha out of the fight in practically an instant. It seems Tempest is not to be trifled with... ... And that dinner is going to have to be delayed even longer.