A/N: So apparently I forgot to mark this story complete. Which means I'm contractually obligated to continue it!


Ike versus the Fourth Wall, Round 2:

Sephiran, surrounded by enemies though he was, turned to Ike and began as gently as possible, "Ike-"

"Yo Sephiran, I'm really happy for you and I'mma let you finish, but Soren is the best dark-haired bishonen sage of all time!" Ike replied.

Sephiran instantly relaxed his dramatic stance and pinched the bridge of his nose. "The poor fourth wall," he murmured, more to himself than anyone else.

Soren had a similar expression on his face. "You must be joking," he said to Ike severely, "The only thing I could beat him in is an arm-wrestling match."

Ike pushed Soren to be two spaces away from Sephiran. They faced each other down; Sephiran was the superior mage by a small margin, but Soren's tome was better and thus they were relatively equal, each inflicting approximately two points of damage in difference. As they both had Nihil, neither would ever critical or special technique the other. "This fight will take double my lifespan," Sephiran admitted dryly. "Since I can take out approximately half of your health without risk of retaliation, Ike, why don't I just ignore your boyfriend and attack you? Your resistance is awful, by the way."

Ike looked at the stats, looked at what would happen if Sephiran ignored Soren, and then looked at the two mages. He said, ignoring Sephiran, "Well, there're other things to compare you on. For example, Soren's hair is longer."

Sephiran gasped indignantly, his intelligent point from earlier forgotten. "It is not! For one thing, I'm taller!"

"Mine is tied back, while yours isn't," Soren pointed out, clearly getting some sadistic glee at the nerve Ike had unintentionally struck.

"I'm a heron," Sephiran sniffed, petting his luxurious long locks. "No other race can compete with us when it comes to hair."

"Because you're worth it," Soren snarked.

"How dare you! My hair is completely natural and I don't need any products to keep it manageable!" Sephiran roared in rage as he flung horribly destructive light magic at the Soren. Soren retaliated, and they were back at square one.

"Sorry," Sephiran admitted with a touch of awkwardness. "I oughtn't lose my temper so easily. If I handled Oliver, I can certainly take a quip about my hair."

"It simply came as no surprise to me that you are truly a beautiful man bird on the inside!" Oliver crooned, drooling over fantasies of effeminate twins. Reyson punched him in the face, although he didn't notice.

"How'd he get in here?" Ike muttered to himself, because he certainly hadn't tapped Oliver to come into the Tower.

"It's quite all right," Soren assured Sephiran. "We-"

"Surely we can find other ways for you two to figure out who's the best femmy mage," Ike muttered, rubbing his squared chin. "Let's see… your magic rank is the same… Sephiran's got some higher speed but Soren's stronger… your hair is comparable…" He looked to the rest of the fighters. "Hey guys! Who looks more like a chick, Soren or Sephiran?"

"They're both dudes?" Naesala called back, smirking. Leanne sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose.

Soren and Sephiran had identical expressions of cold rage on their faces. "Whoever kills him first wins," Sephiran said. Soren agreed, and the two marched off.

Ike sighed, rubbing the back of his head awkwardly. "That could've gone better."

"What about me? I could compete for the title of best mage," said Pelleas excitedly, waving to get Ike's attention.

"Who're you?" asked Ike. Pelleas cried.