Misha cried above the clamor, but it was difficult to soothe a grieving town. The denizens of Dreamville could not contain their grief. Even as they stood around the bellhop (drawn to their full heights, they just about reached his hips), a quiet murmur rippled through them, the collective sob of a nation in mourning. The somber gathers had dulled the luster of Golden Street and Goldleaf Plaza significantly.

The boy sighed. Clockie had been inconsolable. No one knew where he had gone, and so Misha took up the task of speaking to the people. It was difficult, but he kept his friend steadfast in his thoughts. So long as Clockie was in need, he would be there—just as Clockie had always been there for him.

"Look, I know we're all sad about Brother Hanu… I am too, but…"

Misha clenched his jaw. Sad was an understatement. It was as though the Universe had lost one of the only heroic men left. For Brother Hanu was the savior of Dreamville. Without him, who would protect them? Were they now destined to fall apart and return to the tyrannical rule of Boss Stone? The thought sent shivers down his spine. He did not want that—no one did. Their freedom was hard-fought and won.

"B-but we can find a way to get him back. We have to…!"

From within the crowd, an origami bird squawks. "What if the Sicilians do something to him before we can save him?"

"No, don't say that!" Misha shook his head fiercely, "He… he can't get hurt!"

Despite his best efforts, the anxious thought permeated all throughout Dreamville, and the people once again began to rouse their sadness and suspicions. Some cried in grief, others in anger. Someone called for the Sicilians' heads. Misha tried again to soothe them, but their restlessness had grown past what he knew to deal with. It was stopped only by the onset of a loud noise, and the stumbling of footsteps towards Goldleaf Plaza. Misha gasped.

"W-who's there?"

The crowd startled. Misha stepped through them, careful not to trip over their small bodies, and stopped in front of the tall, silver-haired lady. As he stood there, the people of Dreamville moved behind him, defensive. They began to whisper amongst themselves, wondering if this was some new friend or foe. Misha elected to choose the former.

"Um…" he began, very eloquently, "Hello. H-How did you get into Dreamville?"

He does not push the boy to hurry up and make his decision, but nor does he jump into the water first, waiting patiently for his move.

Misha, however, does not turn back like the many weak-spirited humans he has seen. What exactly pushes some into taking the challenge while failing to coerce others to make the move, he does not know and is not sure if he could understand. Courage and bravery play a role, without a doubt - but there is a quiet spirit of determination he picks up from the boy that he rarely finds in most minds, and it prompts him to pause. Is helping a baby otter find its perfect shell such a vital endeavor? For his part, the Iudex simply happened to be nearby and offered to help because he had nothing else to do with the rest of this afternoon. What prompted Misha to take the plunge into a realm he seemed to fear just a moment ago?

He does not understand, but maybe over time, he might find out.

With the boy and the otter in the water, Neuvillette follows suit. Misha takes a moment to adjust, but once he does, the Source of All Waters welcomes him with open arms, embracing him in its gentle waves. Serene blue envelops them from all sides, reflecting the rays of the sun above the surface; seagrass dances around them, and in between the kelp, curious eyes of seahorses and beings of Fontemer peek at the newcomers.

Neuvillette follows behind the otter and Misha, swimming with agility and minimal effort, not so unlike their animal companion - as though doing so is in his very nature. As he moves, his hair and robes echo behind him, not so difficult to mistake for the mane and tail of some sort of mystical creature that would easily find its way into the Fontainian playwrights' fables.

"Hm. I do come here quite often, yes," he answers the question with plain honesty. "Many humans find it intimidating, but being a Hydro lifeform, I am entirely comfortable here."

The otter swims over to a small cluster of shells gathered by the tide and rummages in it for a moment, searching eagerly. In the end, however, it returns to them disappointed.

"Do you know what shells they usually like?" he asks, glancing down to the seafloor below them. There is a small variety of them nestled in the soft sand, pale pinks and blues buried halfway into the ground. They look like smoothed-over shards of porcelain, "I-I mean, I suppose it makes better sense to let the otter choose but…"

His gaze turns to Neuvillette. How he floats in the water, how his robes flow. Come to think of it, his coat had just about the same shade of blue as the otter, didn't it? And his hair shone a similar shade of white. And he did mention being a Hydro Lifeform—whatever that was. Misha blinks, then shakes his head, as though to forcibly dispel the thought. It's a bit rude to compare him to an otter.

"Nevermind. Sorry, I was thinking of something silly. Um… how about I just grab one and show the pup?"

Kicking downwards proves to be a bit of a struggle. Misha's legs flail about before they can propel him to the ground, clumsily caught in the water's body, but he does eventually reach that trove of shells. He searches through the ground, using his fingers to brush away what sand and kelp have caught onto the shells' surfaces. His effort bears him fruit in the form of a pearlescent clam shell, whose shifting blue-purple hues reminded him of the Reverie's Dreampool. He isn't so sure if otters care to dream like people do, but he feels in his heart it's a good thing to give regardless of sentiment.

Swimming past Neuvillette, he approaches the pup with his offering.

"Here you go…!" 

Misha holds out the shell with both hands, though they quiver with a nervousness that would befit a graver situation. The otter tilts its head at it, then wanders over to him. It sniffs—it sniffs—and it finally picks up the shell with its paws. It goes over it with what sounds like a scrutinizing hum… then hurls it back into the ground with a huff. The shot barely misses Misha, though the bellhop still yelps.

₊˚⊹ ㅤa collection of character analysis/headcanon questions to learn more about your character and your partners'! writing/headcanon prompts requested by anonymous. feel free to edit these as you see fit.

"Shouldn’t you be working?” he asked. Shouldn’t he? Misha could very well ask in turn. Gallagher’s “patrol” of the park so far had been little more than a leisurely stroll from one end to the other, interspersed with stops at stalls and, as the boy had caught him doing just now, watching the instruments play a familiar set at the center stage. There was a lull now as the saxophone spit out a reed in exchange for a new one, but the lights suddenly turned on overhead and a large, glittering ball started to turn. Nearby parkgoers flocked around like moths to a flame until a crowd had soon gathered. Realizing that they'd be hemmed in soon, Gallagher gave Misha a hearty pat on the back to steer him through a cleared path out.

"Let’s go someplace else to enjoy these. Careful," two candies dropped one-by-one from the hole in the bag and bounced between feet on their way to one of the grates in the street, "you're gonna lose 'em all.”

The kid had two left feet, but Gallagher's laugh was affectionate, not cruel. Clumsiness aside, Misha had more than enough generosity and compassion to make up for it.

"How’s this?” Gallagher lead them to an unoccupied bench situated along the park’s perimeter. It was out of the way of the main flows of traffic, yet offered a full view of the place. With Misha's approval, he settled down on one side of it and draped his arm across the slatted back. Then he raised the little candy he'd taken appreciatively toward the bellhop and popped it into his mouth.

His bag of candy sat on his knees, wrappers jutting out from the hole at the bottom of the paper. He made no mention of how the plastic poked into his skin, even if he did find it kind of painful. Instead he mirrored the Hound's casual movement, taking a piece of the candy and popping it in his mouth. It was a miracle that he did not end up choking on it.

The candy was sweet—maybe a bit too sweet, but Penacony always flooded the senses with excess. Misha got used to the saccharine the longer it stayed on his tongue, and soon even began to enjoy it. He reached for another, but soon dropped it back in the bag.

"Drop the—whuh?"

Misha's eyes widened. Gallagher occasionally said things he could not understand, but he had always chalked that up to indecipherable grown-up sentiment. This was the first time he had heard him say something well and truly absurd. He opened his mouth to speak—then quickly realized it was a bit of a rude gesture. So he quickly tried to swallow. The candy went down his throat like a tough pill, and tasted quite like it too. The cavern of his mouth tingled with a sudden bitterness.

"No, I'm not Mikhail… that's Grandpa. Did you know him?" He didn't think anyone knew his Grandpa aside from him, but it made sense that Gallagher might. He had been in Dreamflux Reef since forever. Maybe the two met before Mikhail left for his travels. That does not explain why the Hound would mistake Misha for him, though. Worried, the boy reached for Gallagher's shoulder.

"Are you alright, Gallagher? You said something about—Aagh!" Abruptly, he froze. A hand went to his head, which by now had a throbbing pain splitting it in two. He felt a cold drop of sweat run down the back of his neck, "S-Sorry, I'm so so sorry, my head is just…"

He squeezed his eyes shut, quietly whimpering. Memories ran through his head like a reel of film being rapidly spun, but Misha found that he could not really hold onto most of them. After each vision passed, his mind turned blank. Severance was the best way he could describe it—as though one part of his mind was being cleaved from the other and thrown elsewhere.

( And when it landed, it had begun to form a small mind of its own. Somewhere in the vague Dreamscape... )

Suddenly, Misha rose, his hard-earned candy spilling all over the floor. The bellhop turned to Gallagher. There was something like horror that was imprinting itself onto his expression: the symptoms of a grave realization being made. He grabbed Gallagher's hand.

as her allies get up close and personal, march settles for lobbing whatever she can think of making with her six-phased ice at him from a distance instead. let’s see…what’s big and hurts really bad if you get hit with it?

she grins as a close enough replica of caelus’ baseball bat forms in her hand. sure, she’s seen him smack enough enemies back to their senses with it. a ball of ice appears in the other, and she tosses it into the sky before swinging as hard as she can.

Misha ducked as the ice-bat came flying over his head. March was a good shot, so of course it meant her throw was also precise—it smacked their foe right in his chest, though burst into dozens of shattered pieces soon after. Despite the situation, the bellhop smiled to himself. He recognized that weapon, and it made him happy to see the Nameless use it. It nourished the soul to pay tribute to those you journeyed with. He knew this for a fact, though could not tell why.

He gripped his sword, eyes watching Kevin closely. He had no power to shape his weapon. Its form simply manifested on its own, perhaps in response to a purpose it had to serve. Once their enemy was down, Misha did not know what would become of that purpose; or of their group, for that matter. Surely they would go back to their lives, and he, to his humble job at the Reverie, where he would no longer be anyone's hero—just their bellboy. No doubt his blade would return to being a simple broom as well. Could they still feast, then?

The thought made him melancholic. The end of an adventure would always be bittersweet, and for as much as Misha had felt his life was in complete and utter peril, he had grown somewhat attached to what they had. It helped that they were kind to him—kinder than the guests he had to serve or the supervisors he had to answer to. They made him more than a bellboy. Though perhaps that was what they most needed him to be.

In the midst of these thoughts, Misha found his opening. The frost that lingered in the air had long settled in his fingertips, and they felt numb as they tightened around the sword, but he resolved to hold on as strongly as he could. This enemy had weathered so much. It would not take long for him to be brought down.

"I-I think he's getting close to…" dying, they all knew, but Misha could not bring himself to say it. Instead, he continued on, "I'll try to bring him down again. B-but he's probably gonna get up real quick, so… please cover me!"

At that, he turned and raised his sword. He did not turn back to see if they were indeed watching him—over the course of several battles, he developed the trust that they simply would—and charged forward. Again, he took his sword and plunged it downward, pinning Kevin down onto the ground by the wing. The cold was unbearable, especially when it mixed with the burn he had from before. But Misha continued to fulfill his purpose. Dutifully, he kept Kevin down.

march keeps her distance, but her aim is no less sharp for it. every opening spotted by pink and blue is one quickly taken advantage of. if her ice is only half as effective, then she’ll just have to be twice as quick with it, right? then it’ll basically be the same as her being able to attack at full power.

The compliment soothed him. It sounded so much like the idle gratitude of the Reverie's guests. But all semblance of comfort soon faded when Misha laid eyes on Kevin's grounded figure.

He really did not want to go anywhere near him. The chill, the fear, and the way his soul trembled at the thought of keeping another person(?) pinned down made him hesitate in a way that went beyond his normal reservations. Blindly swinging his sword had been easy. Running towards faceless foes and getting lucky was easy. It was not easy, however, to fight Kevin.

But Misha already saw him struggling to escape. He saw the way those wings wished to fly, how relentlessly they flapped against the ground. Against his best wishes, he approached the fallen Icarus, and secured the position of his sword with a clenched fist.

Rime Trauma activates! -1HP MISHA: 8/10HP [1 energy] MISHA: 8/10HP uses Normal Attack: E—Excuse Me! on SHADOW OF DELIVERANCE (DIABOLIC) 135/300HP [Roll: 4+5 = 9, Hit! -1.5HP SHADOW OF DELIVERANCE (DIABOLIC) 133.5/300HP] SHADOW OF DELIVERANCE (DIABOLIC) is inflicted with Cryo! SHADOW OF DELIVERANCE (DIABOLIC) 133.5/300HP counters with Flaming Obliteration [Roll: 3, Miss!] [Roll: 3, Redirect fails!]

It discomforted him to keep his blade fastened through someone's flesh. But he held on, eyes squeezed shut and teeth tightly ground.

The bellhop was not always brave or strong. He was nothing like the Herrscher who moved with confidence and power, or Aglaea who enacted her will with ease, or March, whose strong spirit had pushed her to go this far. No, he was nothing like these women. But if there was one thing he always did, it was his job.

Now, he stands guard over Kevin. The surrounding aura of chill made his knuckles quiver around the handle of his sword. But this was his job. This was his purpose. He saw it now—he had to keep this man lying still.

What Misha does not know is that Kevin, too, has a purpose. Kevin, too, lives by something beyond himself—beyond even his kin. A cosmic oath willed him to rise, and all Misha could do was whimper as he watched it.

[1 energy] MISHA: 8/10HP uses Normal Attack: E—Excuse Me! on SHADOW OF DELIVERANCE (DIABOLIC) 133.5/300HP [Roll: 11+5 = 16, Crit! -3HP SHADOW OF DELIVERANCE (DIABOLIC) 130.5/300HP] SHADOW OF DELIVERANCE (DIABOLIC) counters with Flaming Obliteration [Roll: 18, Hit!] [Roll: 1, Redirect triggers!] -2SP, AGLAEA: 10/10HP 0/6SP Pyro already applied [Follow-Up Attack] MARCH  7TH: 8/10HP uses Girl Power on SHADOW OF DELIVERANCE (DIABOLIC): 130.5/300HP. [Roll: 15, Crit! -5HP, SHADOW OF DELIVERANCE (DIABOLIC): 125.5/300HP] [1 energy] MISHA: 8/10HP uses Normal Attack: E—Excuse Me! on SHADOW OF DELIVERANCE (DIABOLIC) 125.5/300HP [Roll: 7+5 = 12, Crit! -3HP SHADOW OF DELIVERANCE (DIABOLIC) 122.5/300HP] SHADOW OF DELIVERANCE (DIABOLIC) 122.5/300HP counters with Flaming Obliteration [Roll: 12, Hit! -2HP, MISHA: 6/10HP] MISHA is inflicted with Pyro

He tried to keep him down. He really did. He swung his sword at him, and when that was not enough, he used that piercing motion that he did not really like. But there was no stopping the Kaslana. Kevin fired off something searingly-hot—such a cruel contrast to his cold—and Misha staggered back, feeling the singed fabric of his uniform graze against his skin.

"H-he's up again!" he yelled to the others, though they could undoubtedly see Kevin for themselves, "And his attacks really hurt... Please be careful!"

The brick went arcing across the sky; Senti was the next dancer, and she felt all too ready to join in. The blows prior were nothing in the face of the evolved threat–of the Kevin she knew, of the Kevin whose defeat was stolen from her by that gleaming blade–and she made a perfect recovery without so much as a peep. He was bludgeoned and beat, thrust and cut. 

“Robes!” she answered, calling to Aglaea in the midst of her rampage, “You and your guy are following up whenever I make an opening!” That would be her role. Blunt as she may be, Senti was their blade. She’d careen into danger and slice open a path, using her strength, cunning, and trickery in equal measure to teach the Shadow that raw strength was no substitute for the combination that was her. She vaulted forward. Her sharp sword bit into Diabolic flesh,

HERRSCHER OF SENTIENCE 8/10HP uses Transcendence of Trinity on all enemies. [Roll: 1d20+3 = 15, Crit! -12HP. SHADOW OF DELIVERANCE (DIABOLIC) 246/300HP.] All enemies hit take +1 additional damage until the end of the round. Serpent’s Spine activates! +1 damage until hit. HERRSCHER OF SENTIENCE 8/10HP uses Transcendence of Trinity on all enemies. [Roll: 1d20+3 = 9, Hit! -12HP. SHADOW OF DELIVERANCE (DIABOLIC) 246/300HP.] Serpent’s Spine activates! +1 damage until hit. HERRSCHER OF SENTIENCE 8/10HP uses Transcendence of Trinity on all enemies. [Roll: 1d20+3 = 23, Crit! -15HP. SHADOW OF DELIVERANCE (DIABOLIC) 231/300HP.]

And she pulled back the instant she spotted movement. It wasn’t enough to simply grind him into paste, Senti had to stop herself from getting too close, lest the aura of death emanating from his body lull her into eternal slumber. She thus made use of the tips of her weapons to dish out damage, sticking out her tongue or giving a nasty thumbs-down whenever he’d advance and she’d duck out of harm’s way. Slowly. They had to bleed him dry.

“Haha! There! See, aren’t we all the strongest? After we beat him up, let’s all go get some tasty food together. We’ll have a feast of champions, mhm!!” 

But he continued with the fight. If they were not going to give up, then so would yhe. He followed the Herrscher's style of attack. Though his sword lacked the reach of her broadblade, he tried his best to stay out of his reach; out of that malicious chill that wrapped around him. It was difficult considering Kevin's movement. But opportunity presented itself eventually. Like a bird coming to nest, there was a moment where their diabolic foe landed his feet on the ground. Misha felt a surge of urgency run through him, white-hot to contrast to the blue-cold. Now was his chance...!

"E-excuse me! I'll hold him down!"

Rime Trauma activates! -1HP MISHA: 10/10HP   MISHA: 10/10HP rolls 4 energy. [3 energy]  MISHA: 10/10HP uses Elemental Burst: G—Gonna Be Late! on SHADOW OF DELIVERANCE (DIABOLIC) 231/300HP and hits 11 times! [-47 HP, SHADOW OF DELIVERANCE (DIABOLIC) 184/300HP] [Roll = 1] SHADOW OF DELIVERANCE is Frozen[1 energy] MISHA: 9/10HP uses Normal Attack: E—Excuse Me! on SHADOW OF DELIVERANCE (DIABOLIC) 184/300HP [Roll: 13+5 = 18, Crit! -3HP SHADOW OF DELIVERANCE (DIABOLIC) 181/300HP]

He squeezed his eyes shut and drove his sword through Kevin's wing. It looked like butterfly wings being tacked onto a frame. He did not like the feeling of resistance against his blade, and when he opened his eyes, he immediately retreated to his allies' side. Using a sword like a weapon as opposed to some sharp broom made him feel strange. Misha is still unused to the sensation of battle, the friction of his weapon against someone's skin, the shape of a limp, humanoid body. Yet somehow, he also felt like this cycle of violence was familiar to him. Like he had read an entry of it in his grandfather's journal.

But whatever he felt, he knew he had to help. Whatever way he could.

The Great Herrscher of Sentience had loosed her cry—sharp as shattered crystal, resonant enough to hum in the hollows of the ribcage. It was fury made sound, raw and layered with something personal. Aglaea’s golden gaze drifted toward her, noting the clenched fists, the bare-teethed snarl, the fire in her stance. Whatever this trial truly was, their frontliner had recognized the opponent immediately—and she was incandescent with rage.

Aglaea tilted her head slightly. Kevin, the Herrscher had said. The name sat strangely in her thoughts, unadorned and plain. Not like the names she’d known in Amphoreus—Castorice, Mydeimos, Phainon, Tribios. Dan Heng, Caelus. Names she'd learned over the last handful of encounters. Kevin was a name left untouched by flourish. A name from somewhere simpler, perhaps, and forced into greatness.

Her thoughts were drawn back as March 7th approached, pale hair catching the tower’s artificial light. The archer's hand reached toward her, a shimmer of frost settled over Aglaea’s skin, snowflakes melting into delicate fractals. A barrier, light as lace, cold as moonlight.

"Thank you," she said softly, the words folded in warmth. "Your precision is matched only by your kindness."

March smiled at her before darting off, bow already drawn, to lend her strength to the Herrscher’s furious advance.

Misha followed, a little more hesitant—but only a little. Aglaea watched him square his shoulders, the tip of his blade wavering just a breath before he launched himself forward. With a cry—half terror, half determination—he struck. The sword connected, and a blast of cold surged outward, sealing Kevin in ice mid-motion. The Herrscher was already moving, the opportunity taken without hesitation.

The Power of Cuteness triggers! +3HP, AGLAEA: 7/10HP 6/6SP. Supreme Stance is still in effect. Normal Attack is Enhanced until the end of the round.

March’s barrier settled fully then—like falling snow—and Aglaea exhaled. Her body eased beneath its chill, bruises less swollen, pain fading in patches where the frost kissed her skin. She spared the magic a moment of quiet admiration.

Then she moved.

AGLAEA rolls 5 energy.

[2 Energy] AGLAEA: 7/10HP 6/6SP uses Enhanced Attack: Slash by a Thousandfold Kiss on SHADOW OF DELIVERANCE 36.5/200HP. [Roll: 16, Crit! -9HP, SHADOW OF DELIVERANCE 27.5/200HP] Enemy Passive: Inhuman Body triggers! AGLAEA inflicted with Cryo. Melt triggers! [0 x 1.5 = -0HP, AGLAEA: 7/10HP 6/6SP] SHADOW OF DELIVERANCE 27.5/200HP counterattacks with Constellation of Destruction. [Roll: 19, Crit! -4HP, AGLAEA: 7/10HP 2/6SP] Pyro applied. [Follow-up Attack: Girl Power] MARCH  7TH: 10/10HP takes her revenge. [Roll: 13, Hit! -3.5HP, SHADOW OF DELIVERANCE 24/200HP]

[2 Energy] AGLAEA: 7/10HP 2/6SP uses Enhanced Attack: Slash by a Thousandfold Kiss on SHADOW OF DELIVERANCE 24/200HP. [Roll: 15, Crit! -9HP, SHADOW OF DELIVERANCE 15/200HP] Enemy Passive: Inhuman Body triggers! AGLAEA inflicted with Cryo. Melt triggers! [0 x 1.5 = -0HP, AGLAEA: 7/10HP 2/6SP] SHADOW OF DELIVERANCE 15/200HP counterattacks with Constellation of Destruction. [Roll: 7, Hit! -2HP, AGLAEA: 7/10HP 0/6SP] Pyro applied. [Follow-up Attack: Girl Power] MARCH  7TH: 10/10HP is aura farming. [Roll: 14, Crit! -6HP, SHADOW OF DELIVERANCE 9/200HP]

Kevin’s prison of ice cracked just as she reached him. Her sword struck first—once across the shoulder, again at the side, each blow a test of his reflexes and resistance. He answered in kind, elemental power flaring as his counterattacks forced her to rely on the frost barrier. The chill shield shimmered beneath impact, absorbing the worst of the blow even as Aglaea pivoted, drawing Kevin’s attention just long enough for March’s arrows to strike home.

She slipped free of the fray, blade dragging sparks against the floor as she retreated.

“March 7th—your timing was impeccable.”

Her gaze flicked toward Misha, solemn now. The tide was shifting.

“He can’t withstand much more. Be ready, Misha. When he falls… I suspect the next wave won’t give us time to breathe.”

The nickname left him stunned, but he decided to move past it. There were bigger, Kevin-shaped problems lying ahead. Though Aglaea's remark was right—it did not look like he could hold on for much longer. Misha squeezed his eyes shut, ignoring that heavy cold that settled in his stomach.

"R-right, yeah. Just leave it to me..."

Their attacks left him with a clear opening to strike, and he forced himself to stop thinking so much about it. So much about this man was scary—Misha could not even near him without feeling his heart rate quicken. But there would be no one else to do this save for him. He had to end this, and quickly.

Misha pushed past his allies and ran to Kevin sword-first. His eyes focused squarely on his foe. He tried not to think of anything else. Somewhere along his path, however, a small divot in the floor caught his feet unaware.

"W-what? No—!"

MISHA: 10/10HP rolls 4 energy. [2 energy] MISHA: 10/10HP uses Elemental Skill: R—Room Service on all enemies! [-6 HP, SHADOW OF DELIVERANCE 3/200HP] [1 energy] MISHA: 10/10HP uses Normal Attack: E—Excuse Me! on SHADOW OF DELIVERANCE 3/200HP [Roll: 4+5 = 9, Hit! -4.5HP SHADOW OF DELIVERANCE 0/200HP]

The bellhop was thrown forward, toppling right on top of Kevin. His sword went through the man's body, and Misha cried out in pain and horror.

"Ah! I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"

Why he was apologizing for stabbing the enemy, he could not say. Still, he pulled away as quickly as he could, yanking the sword from Kevin's body as he did. The man crumpled, and Misha winced; he's never impaled a person before. Certainly no one like Kevin. It was bad enough to think that he'd run a sword through a man, but the Herrscher's remark about the cold he radiated was also right. The part of his body that had collided with Kevin's felt numb, and he could feel a chill run up his arm in needle-like pricks. Soon, it might fall asleep. He didn't like fighting this guy, not one bit.

Unfortunately for him, their encounter was not over. From where he fell, their foe once again rose, this time transforming into something Misha found horrifying. It looked like the Herrscher when she transformed. Except he...

"He has wings?!" He turned to the Herrscher of Sentience, eyes wide with panic, "P-please don't tell me he can fly..."

Phase 2 begins!

if there is the harsh, biting frost that their opponent—kevin??? since miss herrscher clearly seems to know him—unleashes, then there is also the gentle chill that washes over the dressmaker when march’s fingertips graze her, the comfort of a cooling breeze after a long, hot day. frost blooms from where she touches, patterning snowflakes all across like a second skin.

In his attempt to avoid the man's attacks, Misha had found himself cowering next to the Herrscher of Sentience. Not the most ideal position, given the terrifying form she was in.

His eyes, when he turned to the Herrscher, were round and glistening. "Can't... can't we just talk to him?"

Considering the rampage she proceeded to go on, he figured the answer was no. He took a deep breath and clutched his blade, finding its weight a bit more familiar.

Kevin... was it? The name was ordinary, easily mistaken for an assistant manager at the Reverie, or perhaps one of its guests. But the man before them seemed anything but. What he inspired went beyond fear, beyond chill. It was as though Misha's whole system shut down and got buried into the snow, forgotten for eternity.

Misha swallowed. He knew he had to move. He had to keep protecting everyone. Maybe that was why the dream gave him this sword? In the stories he knew, the hero always wielded one. And the hero would always save his friends in the end.

But he does not feel like a hero. Most times, he feels like a fool. An old fool. What he feels does not matter, though. The people cry for a legacy—and a legacy they shall receive.

"O-okay. No talking, I guess. But I don't know about piling onto him... I'll just try to—!"

With a heave, Misha spun—looking very much like that big axe-wielding character from before, except his spins were much more clumsy and uneven. That seemed to work to his favor, though, for Kevin had been caught in the whirlwind and staggered to his feet. More than that, though, he seemed to freeze mid-fall, not getting up even after a moment had passed.

"Whew. For a moment I thought I wasn't gonna do it..."

Misha exhaled, and let his sword fall to his side. He did not know why, but he suddenly felt quite cold.

“You’ve done well,” she said gently, stepping beside him. Her voice was low but warm, like silk sliding through the eye of a needle. “That was no small feat.”

He looked too young for this. Too soft at the edges. Plucked from his world and thrown into a trial not meant for his hands. And yet—he stood. Untrained, unsure, but unwavering. It would be a shame, she thought, if the flame in his soul were extinguished before he had the chance to see more than ruins and ruinmakers.

Her gaze drifted next to March 7th, who was still drawing back her bow with the speed and precision of practiced hands. “Your aim is exquisite,” Aglaea said, passing by, her footsteps barely audible against the shifting stone.

And then to the Great Herrscher of Sentience, Aglaea inclined her head slightly. “You strike like a storm breaking against a fortress wall. I have seen few with such command of chaos. It suits you.”

Each of them reminded her of someone. Not exact reflections, but echoes. Comrades from Amphoreus, drawn from the golden dusk of memory.

Her blade lifted.

As she swept forward, golden threads rose in her wake, twining into the air like ribbons caught in wind. They wove themselves into her Garmentmaker’s form, repairing the frayed edges of the memosprite’s silhouette until it gleamed once more, pristine and reborn.

AGLAEA: 7/10HP rolls 5 energy. [2 Energy] AGLAEA: 10/10HP uses Elemental Burst: Dance, Destined Weaveress.GARMENTMAKER: 2/5HP healed to full. GARMENTMAKER: 5/5HP Supreme Stance entered until end of Round 3.

“Together,” she murmured.

[2 Energy] AGLAEA uses Enhanced Attack: Slash by a Thousandfold Kiss on ABYSS HERALD: WICKED TORRENTS 24/120HP 20/20SP and hits all enemies. [Roll: 15, Crit! -7HP, halved by Watery Rebirth. -3.5HP, ABYSS HERALD: WICKED TORRENTS 24/120HP 16.5/20SP] [-1.5HP, ABYSS LECTOR: FATHOMLESS FLAMES 71.5/120HP] Aglaea forfeits 1 energy.

The blue-robed one had cloaked itself in a watery veil, and her attacks, while numerous, struck with softened force. Her blade found resistance not in steel but in an unnatural suspension, each strike slowed like thread dragging through damp cloth.

She hummed—no frustration, only calculation—and fell back a step, motioning for Garmentmaker to continue its work. The memosprite surged forward, sweeping through with a wide arc meant to break their defenses anew.

GARMENTMAKER: 5/5HP uses Thorned Snare on ABYSS HERALD: WICKED TORRENTS 24/120HP 16.5/20SP and hits the only other enemy. [-1.5HP, ABYSS HERALD: WICKED TORRENTS 24/120HP 15/20SP][-0.5HP, ABYSS LECTOR: FATHOMLESS FLAMES 71/120HP]

March’s question drifted to her again, and this time Aglaea answered, tilting her head without fully turning back.

“It’s likely a defense matrix,” she said calmly. “Some manner of automated response bound to this space. Layered magic, perhaps. Not unlike—”

.

.

The red mage shattered its prison in a blaze of fury.

Flame surged outward in a radiant ring, not wild but deliberate—like a sun unshackled, reclaiming its dominion over sky and shadow. Fireballs spun in spiraling arcs from its sleeves, each one precise, each one aimed to kill. March and the Garmentmaker moved with remarkable speed, ducking beneath a veil of fire that hissed through the air like heated silk torn at the seam.

But the rest of them—Aglaea included—were not so lucky.

ABYSS LECTOR: FATHOMLESS FLAMES 71/120HP uses Special Attack: Sparking Flares and hits all enemies. [Roll: 2, redirect successful] Illusion: Hit Me!: 3/3HP. [Roll: 4, Hit! -3HP, Illusion: Hit Me!: 0/3HP] ILLUSION: HIT ME! is destroyed and hits all enemies. -2HP. ABYSS LECTOR: FATHOMLESS FLAMES 69/120HP. -2HP. ABYSS HERALD: WICKED TORRENTS 24/120HP 13/20SP. Shatter procs! No crit b/c mods hate me but ABYSS HERALD: WICKED TORRENTS 24/120HP 13/20SP recovers from Frozen. +2HP to all allies. [AGLAEA: 9/10HP, HERRSCHER OF SENTIENCE: 9/10HP, MARCH  7TH: 9/10HP, MISHA: 10/10HP] [Roll: 18, Hit! -3HP, HERRSCHER OF SENTIENCE: 6/10HP] [Roll: 2, Miss! -0HP, MARCH  7TH: 9/10HP] [Roll: 15, Hit! -3HP, MISHA: 7/10HP][Roll: 3, Miss! -0HP, GARMENTMAKER: 5/5HP]

The Herrscher's illusion exploded, shattering the cage that had kept the Herald still.

There was no fanfare, no charge—just a single, inevitable step forward and the raise of its weapon. When the blow came, she did not try to dodge it. There was no place to dodge to. It wasn’t just an attack—it was a severing, clean and absolute.

ABYSS HERALD: WICKED TORRENTS 24/120HP 13/20SP uses Special Attack: Vortex Edge on AGLAEA: 9/10HP [Roll: 19, Crit! Vaporize! -13.5HP, AGLAEA: 0/10HP]

Aglaea felt her form sliced through, as if her own magic had rejected her—her threads disintegrating into dust with no cloth left to bind them to. Sound fled. Sight blurred. Her awareness buckled beneath the weight of a slash that had not yet reached her body.

She should have collapsed.

But instead—

.

.

She blinked.

Light returned. Frost clung to her skin, not ash. Both enemies were still frozen in place, their bodies locked within layers of glacial stasis. Around her, the battle still held its rhythm.

And yet… she felt the echo of it. A phantom ache in her sternum, where the Herald's blade had never struck—but could have.

Aglaea’s fingers drifted to that space, pressing lightly over her heart. The motion was graceful, reflexive, almost reverent. She inhaled deeply through her nose, then exhaled.

“...We should try and keep them frozen as long as possible.”

The sudden drop in her sentences alarmed him, and he quickly ran to her side. From what he'd seen of her, Misha felt that Aglaea was a strong, sharp woman (kind, too, for all the praise and patience she had given him.) It was surprising to see her drift off in the middle of battle, eyes unfocused and breaths deep. Maybe she had suddenly gotten overwhelmed by Memoria—whatever Dreamscape this was did feel rather volatile, so he could have understood if she experienced some kind of hallucination. It was still somewhat concerning, though. Misha frowned.

"Keep them frozen..." he murmurs in response to Aglaea's instruction, then nods, "O-okay! I got that. You can leave them to me! Just, uh, please take it easy?"

He had none of the Clockwork powers of his cartoon friend, so as much as he wished to relax her, the most he could do was make abide by her request. He was good at following instructions... most of the time.

Their opposition regained their movement. Misha could feel the rumbling of their heavy steps. Running up to their enemies, he could see that one of them was beginning to tire. They were covered in a glossy, wet layer, like an ocean covering the surface of a planet. He wondered if his sword could pierce through the veil. Well, there was only one way to find out.

MISHA: 10/10HP rolls 3 energy [1 energy] MISHA: 10/10HP uses Normal Attack: E—Excuse Me! on ABYSS HERALD: WICKED TORRENTS 11.5/20SP [Roll: 17+2 = 19, Crit! -4HP] ABYSS HERALD: WICKED TORRENTS 7.5/20SP ABYSS HERALD: WICKED TORRENTS is afflicted with Cryo. Frozen triggers! [1 energy] MISHA: 10/10HP uses Normal Attack: E—Excuse Me! on ABYSS HERALD: WICKED TORRENTS 7.5/20SP [Roll: 4+2 = 6, Hit! -2.5HP] ABYSS HERALD: WICKED TORRENTS 5/20SP[1 energy] MISHA: 10/10HP uses Normal Attack: E—Excuse Me! on ABYSS HERALD: WICKED TORRENTS 5/20SP [Roll: 5+2 = 7, Hit! -2.5HP] ABYSS HERALD: WICKED TORRENTS 2.5/20SP

He ducked to the side and swung his sword at the watery shield. The blade bounced off the surface, and he flinched at how the steel rebounded, but before the Herald could retaliate, a thick layer of ice began to bloom, originating from where Misha had struck them. The bellhop's eyes widened—oh, was March 7th helping him out? In any case, he hurriedly began to hit other areas of their body to let more of the ice spread. He struck the shins, leapt up to smack their shoulders, all the while avoiding the slow yet vengeful strikes of his opponent. In the end, the chill had fully encased his foe.

Misha heaved a deep sigh. He felt like he'd just lifted a dozen bags up to the Reverie's penthouse. He turned back to Aglaea.

HERRSCHER OF SENTIENCE 10/10HP uses A Worldful of Woes on all enemies.

Her powers flared to life again. “If you missed it… Watch close. You’ll only get one more chance.” 

-4HP. ABYSS LECTOR: FATHOMLESS FLAMES 116/120HP. -4HP. ABYSS HERALD: WICKED TORRENTS 116/120HP. All enemies hit take +1 additional damage until the end of the round. HERRSCHER OF SENTIENCE enters Herrscher Form until end of turn.

Chains expunged from her body, bathing the battlefield in colors of blood and brimstone. Black bound to red, red steeped in black. Each was a feather on a wing of a hundred-limbed angel: one which sought nothing but destruction for her foes. And victory for those she cherished. 

If they followed her, the path ahead would be clear.

HERRSCHER OF SENTIENCE 10/10HP uses Transcendence of Trinity on all enemies. [Roll: 1d20 = 16, Hit! -3HP. ABYSS LECTOR: FATHOMLESS FLAMES 113/120HP. ABYSS HERALD: WICKED TORRENTS 113/120HP.] Blackcliff Slasher activates! Gains +2 additional damage to next attack. HERRSCHER OF SENTIENCE 10/10HP uses Transcendence of Trinity on all enemies. [Roll: 1d20 = 18, Crit! -7HP. ABYSS LECTOR: FATHOMLESS FLAMES 106/120HP. ABYSS HERALD: WICKED TORRENTS 106/120HP.] Blackcliff Slasher activates! Gains +2 additional damage to next attack. HERRSCHER OF SENTIENCE 10/10HP uses Transcendence of Trinity on all enemies. [Roll: 1d20 = 7, Hit! -5HP. ABYSS LECTOR: FATHOMLESS FLAMES 101/120HP. ABYSS HERALD: WICKED TORRENTS 101/120HP.] Blackcliff Slasher activates! Gains +2 additional damage to next attack. HERRSCHER OF SENTIENCE 10/10HP uses Transcendence of Trinity on all enemies. [Roll: 1d20 = 10, Hit! -5HP. ABYSS LECTOR: FATHOMLESS FLAMES 96/120HP. ABYSS HERALD: WICKED TORRENTS 96/120HP.] Blackcliff Slasher activates! Gains +2 additional damage to next attack.

She unleashed her true power. The chains shot this way and that, performing a mixture of binding hits and crashing blows. Some aimed to immobilize. Others to destroy. It was chaos incarnate, but then again, isn’t that unbridled entropy the very thing dictating the universe? Everything is destined to fall apart. Rocks become sediment. Cells decompose into their constituent parts. So too was the fate of the abyss leaders standing before them–Senti was just guiding them along the process. 

She struck the earth, and an obelisk of blade and steel erupted from beneath. Then she slashed. And slashed. And slashed, and slashed and slashed andslashedandslashed–Swings of her broad blade only growing faster with time. “See? I’m a Herrscher!” Her voice was even more of an all-encompassing force, glee singing the back of her throat, “I’m the very embodiment of being!” 

She could have been the president of the universe for all they cared, that wasn’t going to stop the Abyss. The Lector muttered something under its breath, before fires licked the palm of its hand. It snapped, and they exploded, welcoming her with a kind of unholy heat.

ABYSS LECTOR: FATHOMLESS FLAMES 89/120HP uses Special Attack: Sparking Flares and hits all enemies. [Roll: 12, Hit! -3HP, HERRSCHER OF SENTIENCE: 7/10HP] Pyro applied.

It stung like hell, but she had already been through hell before. It would need a flame a thousand times hotter to beat submission out of her. The Herald was next, channeling a rippling tide throughout its arm to take form and strike,

Herrscher of Sentience uses A Wraith Without Trace. Illusion: Hit Me! is summoned!

And Senti was swift. She wasn’t there when the waters ebbed out, waves crashing instead into an illusion.

An illusion which stuck its tongue out, then its fist, then gave a disapproving thumbs-down. 

“Too weak!”

Though the Herrscher's illusion absorbed the blow for her, the rest of them did not have the same privilege. As their great, lumbering foes readied another attack, Misha knew that it was time once again to freeze them in their tracks. An arm extended out, by instinct, stopping anyone behind him from moving forward.

"W-wait! I can holding them off this time! I-I think..."

MISHA: 10/10HP rolls 3 energy [3 energy] MISHA: 10/10HP uses Elemental Burst: G—Gonna Be Late! on ABYSS LECTOR: FATHOMLESS FLAMES 89/120HP and hits 7 random enemies [-16HP, ABYSS LECTOR: FATHOMLESS FLAMES 73/120HP, -16HP ABYSS HERALD: WICKED TORRENTS 37/120HP][Roll: 1] ABYSS LECTOR: FATHOMLESS FLAMES and ABYSS HERALD: WICKED TORRENTS are Frozen!

Despite his uncertain tone, he moved much more deliberately this time, choosing to sweep his sword across his foes before their arms could even raise above their heads. He closed his eyes and wished to freeze them, and when his eyelids peeled open, he saw that it had come true. His powers seemed to work best in a small group... though he was unsure of how else he could try and bolster it. Still, the weakest of the team he might be, he still got the job done.

Misha set his sword down. He wiped the sweat off his brow.

"Phew... Thank goodness..."

march 7th rolls 5 energy! ⁽ ³ ⁾　march 7th hits all enemies with glacial cascade! [ -3HP. abyss lector: fathomless flames 93/120HP. abyss herald: wicked torrents 93/120HP. ] abyss herald: wicked torrents is frozen! ⁽ ¹ ⁾　march 7th hits abyss herald: wicked torrents with frigid cold arrow!  [ roll: 15, crit! -6HP. abyss herald: wicked torrents 87/120HP. ] ⁽ ¹ ⁾　march 7th hits abyss herald: wicked torrents with frigid cold arrow!  [ roll: 7, crit! -6HP. abyss herald: wicked torrents 81/120HP. ]

the nameless never can help her curiosity, though, even in the middle of a battle. besides, if she was going to handle it, march is allowed a question or two about how she's doing it, right? “soooo...how does your, um, other form? work, exactly? i have a friend that kind of does something similar with the whole changing and new haircut but his thing is more like...”

she deepens her voice in an imitation of dan heng that would probably make him cringe if he were here to hear it, flicking her hand upward, “delve-hidden moon, world cleansing dragon!” a dragon made of six-phased ice crashes into their opponents as she does so, though it's certainly a fair bit less intimidating than dan heng's, what with the silly smiley face she's given it and the way the ice explodes into march's usually ice bunnies at the collision.

Now there was only the other to deal with, but Misha felt that he wouldn't be able to face up against them quite yet. Their weapon could easily knock him back into Reality. Instead, he focused his attention on their frozen foe and how he might help bring it down. When fighting people who felt leagues above you, it was good to take them on one at a time. That's what his instincts told him, anyway, though it very well could have been part of a memory too.

MISHA: 10/10HP rolls 4 energy [1 energy] MISHA: 10/10HP uses Normal Attack: E—Excuse Me! on ABYSS HERALD: WICKED TORRENTS 81/120HP [Roll: 16+2 = 18, Crit! -5HP] ABYSS HERALD: WICKED TORRENTS 76/120HP Favonius Sword passive triggers! 1 energy restored. [1 energy] MISHA: 10/10HP uses Normal Attack: E—Excuse Me! on ABYSS HERALD: WICKED TORRENTS 76/120HP [Roll: 13+2= 16, Crit! -5HP] ABYSS HERALD: WICKED TORRENTS 71/120HP [1 energy] MISHA: 10/10HP uses Normal Attack: E—Excuse Me! on ABYSS HERALD: WICKED TORRENTS 71/120HP [Roll: 1+2 = 3, Hit! -3.5HP] ABYSS HERALD: WICKED TORRENTS 67.5/120HP [1 energy] MISHA: 10/10HP uses Normal Attack: E—Excuse Me! on ABYSS HERALD: WICKED TORRENTS 67.5/120HP [Roll: 1+2= 3, Hit! -3.5HP] ABYSS HERALD: WICKED TORRENTS 64/120HP [1 energy] MISHA: 10/10HP uses Normal Attack: E—Excuse Me! on ABYSS HERALD: WICKED TORRENTS 64/120HP [Roll: 18+2= 20, Crit! -5HP] ABYSS HERALD: WICKED TORRENTS 59/120HP

It felt strange to brandish his sword against something that wasn't moving, but he had seen March take advantage of this before. He felt that she knew more about fighting than he did prior to any of this, and so chose to match her. His hits were clumsy as ever, stronger now that he held weight with his blade, but uncertain in the arc of their swing. Still, in some way, he liked to think that they helped weaken the thing that was trapped within the ice.

but how was march supposed to follow that?

march 7th rolls 4 energy! ⁽ ³ ⁾　march 7th hits all enemies with glacial cascade! [ -3HP. voidranger: trampler 72.5/100HP. voidranger: eliminator 2.5/45HP. ] voidranger: trampler is frozen! ⁽ ¹ ⁾　march 7th hits voidranger: trampler with frigid cold arrow!  [ roll: 20, crit! -5HP. voidranger: trampler 67.5/100HP. ]

there's only two enemies left on the battlefield after all that—and all the easier to stop them in their tracks for it, march thinks! the larger of the two voidrangers gets her attention first, finger gun aimed and fired with a cheerful, “bang!” that has six-phased ice bursting to life from the ground to encase it.

He gawked at the Herrscher's new form. He wondered if it was all the influence of the dream, or if she actually possessed these powers in full even in Reality. Misha hoped he was never in the situation to find out.

As March 7th freezes the remaining enemies, Aglaea's Garmentmaker lunges after the other, striking it down like a lion chasing prey. It fell down with a quiet, unceremonious thud, the end of its life marked with nothing more than a gleaming blade. Misha didn't know why, but he felt a little sad.

The last remaining foe began to melt away from its ice enclosure. Its hoof slowly raised high above their heads, readying a devastating strike. Misha's eyes widened, and he ran once more to intercept it. They had done a good job thus far of avoiding injury. He wished to keep that up.

"N-no! Please don't move!"

MISHA: 10/10HP rolls 3 energy [3 energy] MISHA: 10/10HP uses Elemental Burst: G—Gonna Be Late! on VOIDRANGER TRAMPLER 63.5/100HP and hits 7 more times. [-32HP, VOIDRANGER TRAMPLER 31.5/100HP][Roll: 1] VOIDRANGER TRAMPLER 31.5/100HP is Frozen!

He cried, then slammed his sword into the ground. The floor fractured where the tip pierced through it, sending a strong wave of some invisible force rippling through the air. It knocked his enemy prone, and when Misha (nervously) went closer to inspect it, he could see that it stood frozen-still, the distant sound of clocks ticking down to its moment of freedom.

Their names lingered in Aglaea’s mind like threads waiting to be knotted into place.

Misha, the bellhop—nervous but not useless, plucked from the Reverie and dropped into carnage without warning. There was a softness to his presence, like a garment worn in at the seams. The Great Herrscher of Sentience, said with enough flourish to sound almost farcical, but Aglaea could see the raw, unchecked will beneath the bravado. She was chaos stitched into a body—flawed, volatile, and brilliant. And March 7th, whose name was a mystery in itself, temporal and whimsical, like a page torn from a journal without context.

Each one had a name that bore the weight of story, and in them, Aglaea found the smallest measure of beauty.

Their efforts had not been in vain. Strike by strike, they'd worn the cannoneer down, that grotesque thing with its bristling weaponry and too-smooth movements. It had erased the Herrscher’s illusion in a blink where lesser foes from the previous floor had required multiple attempts.

Aglaea shifted her stance with practiced grace, the threads of power gathering at her heels and the Garmentmaker mirroring her movement, poised in elegant silence. The air shimmered faintly around her, a soft distortion marking the transition.

AGLAEA: 10/10HP rolls 5 energy. [2 Energy] AGLAEA: 10/10HP uses Elemental Burst: Dance, Destined Weaveress. Supreme Stance entered. Normal Attack becomes Enhanced until end of next round.

She hummed, confirming the change from the previous floor; her stance would last longer this time.

She launched forward like a needle through cloth, blade flashing with golden light. The strike was perfectly placed, an angled blow through the gap in the creature’s plating where its chest met its shoulder. Metal split beneath her touch. The force of the blow shuddered through its frame, and before it could recover, Garmentmaker swept in—a second arc, wider and deeper, cleaving not just through the cannoneer but into the edges of the formation behind it.

[2 Energy] AGLAEA: 10/10HP uses Enhanced Attack: Slash by a Thousandfold Kiss on VOIDRANGER: ELIMINATOR: 22.5/45HP and hits all enemies. [Roll: 15, Crit! -7HP, VOIDRANGER: ELIMINATOR: 15.5/45HP] Electro applied.[-3.5HP, VOIDRANGER: TRAMPLER: 85.5/100HP, VOIDRANGER: DISTORTER: 25.5/60HP, ANTIBARYON: 6/30HP] Electro applied.

Enemies staggered. Shadows reeled. The smallest of them—a floating orb-shaped construct, previously dormant—began to jerk, spasming erratically in place as if its equilibrium had shattered from the shock of their assault.

Super-conduct triggers! Crit floor -4 against ANTIBARYON until end of round.

Aglaea’s gaze snapped toward it.

“There,” she said, voice low and clear. “The smallest one won't endure much more.”

He didn't want to fight. He'd always known he was something of a soft-hearted thing. He possessed memories of bloody battle, though was uncertain if they were his or if he simply read it in his grandfather's log—Mikhail's logs were very detailed, you see—and so he never felt acclimated toward it. Besides, fighting was always a bad thing, wasn't it? But he knew now that, no matter how bad, no one was immune to it. He didn't want to fight but he had to. And though he had none of that strength he needed now, he had this undeniable wish to keep those he was with safe. That wish was what led him forward, running past Aglaea and her Garmentmaker, past the Herrscher and the Nameless, and toward the Antimatter Legion.

"Wait, that enemy! I… I'll go take care of 'em! You guys can just, uh, go for everyone else!"

He didn't know when he got bold enough to start bossing people around, but his own nerves lowered his usual shy demeanor. The enemy he'd referred to: he caught it before, the silver-clad foe, commanding the others to go for one of them. He knew the onslaught that followed was relentless. He didn't want it to happen again. Besides, there was something tactical about going for the proverbial captain of the ship, wasn't there? So long as you injured the head, the rest of the body wouldn't be able to move. So let's go for the leader and achieve victory!

What a strange passion for combat... Ah… maybe his memories of fighting came from more than just the logs…?

MISHA: 10/10HP rolls 5 energy [1 energy] MISHA: 10/10HP uses Normal Attack: E—Excuse Me! on VOIDRANGER: DISTORTER: 25.5/60HP [Roll: 16+2 = 18, Crit! -4HP] VOIDRANGER: DISTORTER: 21.5/60HP Super-conduct triggers! Favonius Sword triggers! Regain 1 energy. [1 energy] MISHA: 10/10HP uses Normal Attack: E—Excuse Me! on VOIDRANGER: DISTORTER: 21.5/60HP [Roll: 7+2 = 9, Hit! -2.5HP] VOIDRANGER: DISTORTER: 19/60HP [1 energy] MISHA: 10/10HP uses Normal Attack: E—Excuse Me! on VOIDRANGER: DISTORTER: 19/60HP [Roll: 1+2 = 3, Hit! -2.5HP] VOIDRANGER: DISTORTER: 16.5/60HP [1 energy] MISHA: 10/10HP uses Normal Attack: E—Excuse Me! on VOIDRANGER: DISTORTER: 16.5/60HP [Roll: 20+2 = 22, Crit! -4HP] VOIDRANGER: DISTORTER: 12.5/60HP [1 energy] MISHA: 10/10HP uses Normal Attack: E—Excuse Me! on VOIDRANGER: DISTORTER: 12.5/60HP [Roll: 5+2 = 7, Hit! -2.5HP] VOIDRANGER: DISTORTER: 10/60HP[1 energy] MISHA: 10/10HP uses Normal Attack: E—Excuse Me! on VOIDRANGER: DISTORTER: 10/60HP [Roll: 20+2 = 22, Crit! -4HP] VOIDRANGER: DISTORTER: 6/60HP

He cast all this aside. Misha tried his best to focus. He kept his eyes open as wide as he could, though he couldn't stop the buckle of his knees beneath the weight of his blade. Still, his attacks managed to land. They weren't as fluid as Aglaea's—he never could hope to be, considering his perpetual clumsiness—but they were enough. He brought his mark down as low as it could go. Misha heaved a deep sigh, relief and exhaustion mixed into one.

The swarm collapsed on their frontliner like a wave unbound—chaotic limbs and gnashing teeth pressing in with reckless force. Aglaea did not intervene. She watched, blade poised at her side, the picture of composure amidst disarray.

Then, without so much as a scream, the enemies vanished.

Not slain. Not driven back. Simply gone—erased, as though snipped from the world by unseen shears. The air pulsed with the absence, a breath of silence thick with unspoken magic. Injuries faded. Torn hems mended themselves. It was not healing—it was correction. The battlefield, it seemed, had been redressed.

The walls shifted again—textures folding in on themselves, the ceiling tilting, realigning with no regard for physics or sense. Where stone once stood, now glass. Where fabric had draped, now metal. Nothing remained stable except the growing ache in the space before her—a tear not in the floor or wall, but in reality itself.

Her senses snagged on it.

Aglaea sighed, quiet and even. “No time for rest,” she murmured, “but there is enough for introductions.”

With practiced grace, she swept her blade to the side—a flourish that belonged more to theatre than necessity, and yet it fit. The stage had shifted. The performance would continue.

AGLAEA: 10/10HP rolls 5 energy. [1 Energy] AGLAEA: 10/10HP uses Elemental Skill: Rise, Exalted Renown. GARMENTMAKER: 5/5HP is summoned and moves after Aglaea’s next action.

“My name is Aglaea, Dressmaster of Okhema, and one of Amphoreus’ Chrysos Heirs.” She stepped forward with a dancer’s elegance, canting her head slightly toward the Memosprite at her side. “My stalwart companion is Garmentmaker. Please ready yourselves for combat once more.”

Even as she spoke, the void trembled.

From that unnatural rift came shapes—torn from nightmare, clumsy in their emergence but brimming with violence. One dragged itself out and pointed a claw toward the archer in pink, its body twisting with weightless malice. Aglaea did not spare it more than a glance. The threat had already been chosen.

[1 Energy] AGLAEA: 10/10HP uses Normal Attack: Thorned Nectar on VOIDRANGER: ELIMINATOR: 45/45HP. [Roll: 22, Crit! -3HP, VOIDRANGER: ELIMINATOR: 42/45HP] Seam Stitch and Electro applied. GARMENTMAKER: 5/5HP uses Thorned Snare on VOIDRANGER: ELIMINATOR: 42/45HP and hits two enemies. [-3HP, VOIDRANGER: ELIMINATOR: 39/45HP] [1.5HP, VOIDRANGER: TRAMPLER: 98.5/100HP, ANTIBARYON: 28.5/30HP] Electro applied. [1 Energy] AGLAEA: 10/10HP uses Normal Attack: Thorned Nectar on VOIDRANGER: ELIMINATOR: 39/45HP. [Roll: 3, Hit! -1.5HP, VOIDRANGER: ELIMINATOR: 37.5/45HP] [1 Energy] AGLAEA: 10/10HP uses Normal Attack: Thorned Nectar on VOIDRANGER: ELIMINATOR: 37.5/45HP. [Roll: 6, Hit! -1.5HP, VOIDRANGER: ELIMINATOR: 36/45HP] [1 Energy] AGLAEA: 10/10HP uses Normal Attack: Thorned Nectar on VOIDRANGER: ELIMINATOR: 36/45HP. [Roll: 6, Hit! -1.5HP, VOIDRANGER: ELIMINATOR: 34.5/45HP]

She withdrew, steps quiet against the ground, retreating just enough to allow another to step forward into the space she had carved open. The pattern was set. The stage remained. And the thread of fate—tied neatly, for someone else to pull.

He didn't notice the change until he had instinctively glanced down at the floor as saw that, in the place of bristles, a blade was attached to his handle.

"H-Huh?!" surprise almost causes him to drop it. Brandishing his broom like a weapon was a foreign enough concept. Using a sword felt like being plopped into an entirely different Universe. Perhaps whoever was in control of this strange Dream wanted to throw him off. Well, it was certainly working!

He clutched onto it as the lady—Aglaea—introduced himself. He didn't know if he could fight, but he did know that he could at least do this. Misha swallows down the lump in his throat.

"I-I'm Misha! I'm a bellhop from the Reverie, and I—wah!!!"

His introduction was cut short by the sudden movement of one of their foes, who surged towards them in the moment of lull. Misha once again let his instinct guide him. He stepped forward, shut his eyes, and swung the sword like he did his broom.

A sword is much heavier than a broom, of course, and Misha near loses his grip on the hilt (which would have been devastating, as it would have flown and smacked someone else) but against all odds, he manages to hit three of the four fiends cleanly. As his blade collided with them, they froze, so similarly to the way the big bad did earlier.

Misha lowered his sword. He stared incredulously at his hands, then at the still figures that he had cut.

"Oh... it worked this time!"

all these questions and more go unanswered, because voidrangers and baryons never wait long enough for her to ask before they spring into action. looks like misha's fancy tricks aren't working for him this time...

march 7th rolls 5 energy! ⁽ ³ ⁾　march 7th hits all enemies with glacial cascade! [ -1HP. voidranger: distorter 16/28HP. voidranger: eliminator 25.5/28HP. voidranger: reaver 24.5/28HP. antibaryon 11.5/15HP. baryon a 12.5/15HP. baryon b 11.5/15HP. ] voidranger: distorter & voidranger: reaver are frozen!

“hey! freeze while i'm still asking nicely!” there's no dream shenanigans—or whatever that had been earlier—for march, though. just some good old fashioned six-phased ice that encases two of the voidrangers faster than you say, say cheese! hands plant defiantly on her hips as she calls out, “you're supposed to pick on people your own size, you know!”

⁽ ¹ ⁾　march 7th hits voidranger: distorter with frigid cold arrow!  [ roll: 10, crit! -2HP. voidranger: distorter 14/28HP. ] ⁽ ¹ ⁾　march 7th hits voidranger: distorter with frigid cold arrow!  [ roll: 18, crit! -2HP. voidranger: distorter 12/28HP. ]

Misha found her scary. She had picked him up so easily, then just as dismissively set him back down. She moved and yelled with a loudness that went beyond sound reverberating through the air—it was as though the very core of the Universe vibrated. Still, she's not scary enough for him to become detached. She was hurt, she was wounded—and somehow, she froze. Just like the big bad from before.

His heart pounded, and before he really knew what he was doing, he found himself stepping in front of her. One of the Antimatter Legion fighters, the one clad in silver, looked just about ready to strike. Misha didn't want it to.

"Y-you've done enough to her! Please stop!"

[1 energy] Misha 8.5/10HP uses Normal Attack: E—Excuse Me! on Voidranger Distorter 11/28HP [Roll: 16, Hit! -1HP] Voidranger Distorter 10/28HP and is inflicted with Cryo. [1 energy] Misha 8.5/10HP uses Normal Attack: E—Excuse Me! on Voidranger Distorter 10/28HP [Roll: 4, Hit! -1HP] Voidranger Distorter 9/28HP  [1 energy] Misha 8.5/10HP uses Normal Attack: E—Excuse Me! on Voidranger Distorter 9/28HP [Roll: 13, Hit! -1HP] Voidranger Distorter 8/28HP [1 energy] Misha 8.5/10HP uses Normal Attack: E—Excuse Me! on Voidranger Distorter 8/28HP [Roll: 4, Hit! -1HP] Voidranger Distorter 7/28HP

He held his broom horizontally and pushed his foe down. Then, he gripped it back by its handle and smacked its helmet with the bristles. Oh... was he beginning to fight like her? He didn't know. By this point, he was powered only by fear and instinct, every move borne from desperation as opposed to any sort of skill. But sometimes, it was within those fog of emotions that people found the best of themselves. A few more encounters like this, and Misha might just strike gold.