Night finally peaked over Kiel. Silence permeated over the roofs and the streets. The remaining reservists straggled around what was left of their encampment by the south walls. Whoever had attacked them did so with staggering force. They hoped to repay the favor as they regrouped.

Across the city, the two Soviet main battle tanks, now thoroughly weathered, sat docile by the piers of the fjord, engines switched off to cool down, its dark green hulls shining under the luminescent glow of the braziers distributed across the dockyard. Most of the sailboats had been wafted aside while a dinghy was "procured" for Oleg, Misha, Bohdan, Vassily, and Yakov to recon the location of the submerged missiles.

Saito looked up at the turret of one of the tanks. Albrecht Hohenzollern III sat bound and motionless, cocooned in dicot and burlap. Every now and then, at the signs of movement, one of the Russians would stoop down and squeeze the back of his neck, making him limp again. Why do we even have him with us?

A good distance across from them was his mother-in-law alongside her own makeshift unit. Professor Colbert watched, his curiosity furiously withdrawn, alongside Viscount Wardes and Matilda. Their faces showed a stringent tiredness, one that he had once heard a psychologist back in Japan say as a symptom of war shock. Strange, Karin had a powerful legacy of experienced combat elitism which she had shared with Colbert—a former mage knight with a nickname to match—and the former Reconquista duo. Perhaps it was just that their constant forays into trouble trained their facial muscles to not betray any emotion.

The four senior mages rested passively by some crates, attention drawn to the rowboat shrinking atop the oceanic horizon. For the most part, there was nothing to be said. They had effectively torn apart another Germanian utopia; two cities were gutted with an accompanying slaughter—a far cry from their noble intention of covert disarmament of the ancient Soviet weaponry being salvaged at the Eastern Germanian Archaeological Site miles away.

Saito felt Derflinger ease slightly off the rim of its sheath. "You still getting that tingling feeling, boss?" it asked.

"Yeah. It's not going away." The fuzziness had only intensified when they closed in on the pier. So far, he had kept away from the tanks. I'll have to look into this matter further.

"It's getting stronger."

"I know."

Saito suddenly stilled. Everyone else did as well. The clatter of hooves resounded against the concrete. They're here…

"…have reached this point… And here they are."

The young Duke breathed. He turned to see the Elves dismounting by one of the anchor stubs. Both Luctiania and Ari failed to appear nondescript. Saito read them easily; he knew better not to ask them though. He couldn't blame them really. They didn't bring this all about.

The Marshal received them chillingly. "I take it the hazing was a little too rough?"

Luctiania and Ari both gaped at him. Bidashal narrowed his focus on the former Spetsnaz major. "We counted twenty-nine human children. None living. It is not much as an initiation to violence than a prelude to a massacre."

Saito diverted his gaze around them. Louise, of course, was agape with Montmorency sharing the same amount of shock. His mother-in-law, however…she was stiff as stone yet her eyes remained firmly locked on the Marshal. It was difficult to read her emotions as…well, there was nothing to read. She was definite, resolute. Firm. Hardened, desensitized.

Gorian nodded. He raised his hands in mock greeting. "I see. Welcome to the club then…"

Siesta found herself staring at a cantankerous fleet admiral.

"Der Feueratem is now under control of the Imperial North Fleet. Your services are hereby directed to me and my staff. This will be our temporary headquarters until I say otherwise."

The maid felt the servants nudge at her. Oh, right…I'm in charge. Might as well oblige as there was no other option given the numbers of marines, sailors, and soldiers already pouring into the tavern. She nodded shakily and stepped aside.

The admiral kept a passive face. "Sehr gut." Very good.

The largest and most popular watering hole in Vindobona quickly transformed into a makeshift military command center with a good majority of the sky ships hovering stationary above the central plaza, the crews of each keeping watch on the draglines to prevent any more sappers from attempting another suicide attack.

Siesta soon found herself serving the men drinks—mainly alcohol—alongside stools and chairs and all matters of things that she didn't even know were necessary to this war effort.

Within hours, the bar had been rearranged into a couple of wide tables grouped together to hold a set of maps and cartography tools while the field commanders of Nordflotte huddled around them like hungry vultures.

Siesta went into the kitchen to refill her tray with bottles of unopened beer bottles.

"I just hope this mess blows over so we can all go back to our normal lives," the apprentice whispered from behind.

The maid offered him faint confidence. "Me, too. Though I much prefer if the tavern was full of coal miners instead of soldiers."

"I wish."

Another explosion echoed from somewhere in the capital. The officers tensed then relaxed. Siesta cleared away the empty bottles, squeezing herself into their spaces and allowing her ears to pick up the din of conversation. Thank Brimir for Louise's language spells!

"…the attack is ongoing."

"Have we surrounded the palace?"

"No word yet, Herr admiral."

"Any news about Der Kaiser?"

"None, I'm afraid."

"Verdammt. We have to get word out to the front."

"How will they react to it?"

"I don't know but they need to know. Perhaps they could spare some of the reservists. We have enough men and materiel to press against the partisans until reinforcements arrive from the west."

"What about the border divisions holding the east?"

"Leave them be. Best to cover our eastern flanks while we sort this out. Can't have the savages blow through the walls again."

"I will send the runners immediately."

Siesta left the bar again. The cogs in her mind turned. If the Emperor of Germania is…dead… He can't be; he couldn't be. He might be incapacitated or…taken hostage… Oh no, the Alliance! She stared at the sink for five minutes with one predominant thought in mind. War…

A good hundred minutes after the sun finally set, the rowboat returned and the men disembarked back onto the pier.

"This may not sound good but we have a few possible locations. We need someone to go down there—be our eyes—and, once identified, shore up the ropes to secure around the boosters," Oleg reported.

"We have the muscle for that," Gorian replied. "How many spots and how deep?"

Vassily handed his notes. "Four coordinates. You'll know where. Just look for the water buoys; they're red. Best estimate for the whole search area…is at around a couple dozen feet…along that range."

"It wasn't that deep before. Either the ground rose or the water level dropped," Bohdan grunted.

"The former." The Marshal gestured at Saito. "This is where you come in."

Saito blinked. "Wait, what?"

"You have the magic for this. So listen up and listen carefully, alright?" He promptly raised his voice for the other mages to hear. "There are seven missiles buried under the seabed just up to the north. I want you—and the Undine Knights, of course—to tie a cord around the thrusters so we can drag them further to the ocean. We will be using the bigger boats for that."

Duke de Ornièlles gaped at him. Seven missiles? Holy shit, that's more than I expected! "Are…are they nuclear missiles?"

"Yes."

Crap. "Um, you want me to…swim down there and tie a rope around them?"

"Exactly. Was I not clear?"

If the magic that preserved the tanks also preserved the rockets then I don't think I'd be able to do that. "It's…not going to be easy."

"Nothing is." Gorian directed his attention to Guiche. "You are an earth bender, am I correct?"

The young Grammont raised his brow. "My runic element is earth, yes."

The Marshal nodded. "Well, then. That would make things easier. He moves the ground, hopefully raise the seafloor up a bit higher—"

"But I'm not capable of that feat!" Guiche interjected. "I'm still a line mage! Only highly adept square-class mages can shift swathes of earth like that."

"Okay, back to plan A. Swim down there and secure the thrusters. Tie it around the mast of that sailboat over there"—he pointed to a much larger fishing trawler sitting close to the trading post—"and we'll take care of the rest. Am I clear?"

How am I supposed to say this? Saito rubbed the back of his head. "Marshal, there is something you should know about."

Gorian narrowed his eyes. "What is it now?"

"I…I can't touch them."

The Marshal nearly flared. "What do you mean you can't touch them? You only have a few abrasions here and there; don't tell me you'd focus more on tending to flesh wounds than dealing with the more serious matters at hand."

Saito hid his gritted teeth. "It's the magic, okay? There's something about the magic involved that…I can't really…do much. It's hard to explain. Even I don't understand it." You've been in the Tristainian army long enough to see me in action. You probably have an idea about my association to the Brimiric prophesies, don't you? He watched his reaction. The Marshal stared at him. Then he abruptly turned to his fellow Russians and asked for something.

Saito saw Semyon hand over his assault rifle. "What are you doing?"

Gorian ignored him. He proceeded to remove the magazine and clear the chamber. Then he offered the partially-neutered gun to the young Duke. "Take it."

"What?"

"Take it, I said."

Derflinger clapped its hilt against the rim of the sheath slung over Saito's back. "Boss…"

"Marshal, what are you—"

Patience finally depleted, Gorian grabbed Saito's wrist and slammed the receiver onto the young man's open palm. He was genuinely surprised at the sudden jolt and the sounds and smell of grilling meat between the young duke's skin and the steel of the gun. Both flesh and steel were now marked by whatever acidic process took place.

"Marshal, damn it!" Saito screamed, pulling back and massaging his palm. There were no burn marks but the runes throbbed on the back of his palm with the intensity of a terrible migraine. "Shit…what did you…"

"Gorian, what are you onto?" Karin demanded.

The Marshal clicked his tongue. "I knew it."

Saito stared back at him. "Knew what?"

He quickly switched to Russian. "Vassily, you were right: oil and water. Elven magic and human magic don't mix."

From the side, Vassily smirked, looking at the mages across from them. "Herr de Ornièlles is affected by the preservation spell of the rifle," he declared in Tristainian.

"What makes you say it's a preservation spell?" Louise interrogated.

The KGB lieutenant shrugged. "I just know."

Semyon stepped into the exchange, clearly irate. "Enough with this! Look, someone has to go down there and secure the boosters so we could drag them."

"Well, I'm not doing it," Saito said defiantly. "You've seen the effects."

"No wonder you wouldn't go near the tanks…"

"We will levitate them," Ari chirped. Heads snapped his way. Even Luctiania shared the same amount of disbelief with her uncle Bidashal. "You said it was Elven magic. We're Elves. We could do it. I mean, how hard could it be?"

"Ari," Bidashal warned. The wiser elf steeled himself as soon as he detected the Russians casting their weary gazes at him. Or more specifically, Elder Alosh. It was uncomfortable; he didn't like it but it was hard to say whether or not the Elder was feeling the same way.

"They're heavy. Very heavy," Misha deadpanned.

"Just so you know," Semyon added, pointing an accusing finger at Alosh. "Your elder…knows exactly where they are buried. Don't you?"

Alosh arched his chin, his hood concealing the glint in his dry eyes.

Laurent manually pushed the trapdoor open, startling the mage knights above him and revealing the vast collection of antiquated musketry onto the table across the room. He frowned and hoisted himself onto the floorboards, casually patting away the dust.

"You could have at least held them with care. I've spent my lifetime collecting them, you know," he mildly rebuked.

The chevaliers gaped.

Laurent sighed. "We could use some more firepower…no matter how old they are. Get those guns and follow me." He then quickly descended back down into the passageway.

"P-pardon, monsieur?"

"Get the muskets and follow me. Don't worry, you won't get lost. Follow me and be careful with them, okay?"

The knights took a moment to register what the order. Duke de La Vallière yelled again and this time they were wise enough to heft the muskets off the racks and down into the ragged underground tunnels, following an elaborate network winding towards a ladder that led up to—out of all places—the basement of a winery which was located a good distance away from the besieged manor.

"Here, I offer my collection. Hopefully, they will be of use. I can send you some of my own menservants to field them if you are lacking in manpower."

Agnès thanked him, having the muskets of varying sizes and calibers be assigned to squadrons of her elite musketeers.

Laurent then went upstairs and outside the building. Around the winery, several tents were being propped up; the new location of the "mobile" headquarters of the Tristainian defenders settled in the middle of a vineyard. He found Osmond directing mages to the perimeter fences where some of his own militant servants were placing markers to demarcate the patrol points for the sentries.

Half a kilometer away, the manor, the once beautiful home of the Vallière lineage, sat isolated and blackened atop the knoll. The few brave soldiers who stayed behind were still holding out, amazingly, despite the obvious. He smiled proudly. The chateau itself was designed as a fortress and its placement on a hill provided a tactical advantage to the defenders.

Then again, the renovations of his ancestors had also served to replace the sturdier bricks with hardened wood, making the place rather attractive but easier to demolish. He looked at the darkening skies. Faint volleys continued to echo from the hills and mountains.

"I hope our ships would outlast theirs," he muttered.

"We have Gallia on our side," Guldendorf said, intruding beside him. "They could spare us some materiel so long as they hold their front with the bulk of what they have in active service."

"We should borrow more frigates. At least, to replace the ones we are losing."

The Grand Duke frowned. "I know. If we could, we would."

Saito watched the Elves depart on the dinghy accompanied by another which was occupied by four of the Spetsnaz commandos who had laconically insisted on serving as overwatch. He watched them both shrink over the horizon. But with his vision affected by over two years of extensive exposure to Halkeginian magic, he could discern a pair of arms stretch over the bow.

In the moment, he could feel The arcane, the magic…the presence of angry soldiers eager to retaliate. Battle cries resounded from the buildings surrounding the docks.

"We are under siege!"

"Take cover!"

Saito pulled Louise and Montmorency down a good half-moment before a massive ball of fire tore a smoldering crater in the middle of the dry dock. He looked up and found numbers of swordsmen, spearmen…peasantry armed with pitchforks, knives, and sharpened cutlery. The torches illuminated the determination and even the fear that was still prevalent among them. A solid line of robed mages stood with their wands outstretched (not too far behind their cannon fodder).

He crawled over to some of the crates heaped indiscriminately all around the dry-dock. His own sword in hand, the young Duke peeked over cover. He saw Karin holding steadfast behind the wall of a building. Another large fireball came and went, incinerating a wine barrel and setting a portion of the piled commodities aflame.

Saito could hear the Marshal screaming orders. In Russian.

"Marshal!" He found Gorian climbing up the turret. The one where Albrecht was bound to. He undid the ropes and heaved the body over his shoulder. "Marshal!"

Gorian ignored him, disappearing behind the cupola.

Saito made to hold. He stabbed Derflinger into the ground deep enough to allow a pivot for his body to swing out from behind the crates and slam his legs into the first few men who had charged towards them. The militants stumbled and ended up being thrown into the water by Louise and Montmorency.

"Louise!" he hollered. "Contain the fire!"

Both ladies nodded; Montmorency hastened to the water's edge and with baited breaths began conjuring masses of water to extinguish the burning cargo.

Across the dock, Karin shoved the barrels in front of her towards the advancing crowd. She exploited the brief distraction. Colbert, Wardes, and Matilda watched the Heavy Wind wordlessly shatter the formation of the militia with a powerful air draft. Just enough for them to also throw in a few of their own disruptive spells.

Kirche held her own amazingly but the stress was showing. Her aim wobbled and hesitation mired her every move. By this point, Flame dealt mostly with the attackers and thus absorbed the blunt of a few well-placed blows.

Saito rolled across the yard towards an empty cart. He looked back at the tanks. Gorian emerged on top of the turret with the hostage half-stripped and still bound but forced to stand.

"Halt! Halt!"

The momentum of the ambush slowed.

"Halt, I say! Halt!"

The Germanians grounded to a line by the threshold of the piers. A series of collective gasps and guffaws resonated among their ranks.

Semyon grabbed a torch off the braziers and handed to Yegor who proceeded to illuminate the bruised and bulging face of Albrecht Hohenzollern III. The Kaizer wobbled and slowly opened his eyes, though his vision blurred from both the headaches and his inflamed cheeks. Despite the injuries and lack of clothing, he was easily recognizable.

"Mein Gott…" a mage echoed. "Das ist der Kaiser!"

"That's right!" Gorian hollered, violently hoisting up his hostage. "Look at your beloved Kaiser! Look at him!"

The Spetsnaz operatives huddled behind the tanks, clicking their rifles over the steel with the iron sights settled with practiced ease over the heads of the closest targets within the first ten yards.

"Marshal, what are you doing!" Saito whispered as loud as he could in Tristainian.

"Diversion," Semyon hastily replied.

"Look, they're stopping!" Guiche reported.

Malicorne peeked over his share of cover. "T-they…they are stopping…"

The ruckus that normally accompanied a charge died out rather quickly. Saito chanced the moment. He exposed himself just long enough to catch the dumbfounded looks on most of the faces in front of him.

Louise pulled at his arm. She pointed past Montmorency quelling the flames to the columns hovering over the water like sentient giants. No sooner had Duke de Ornièlles seen the missiles than the Marshal, Karin, the mages, the Knights, and the rest of the Germanian militia shift the tense hostile mood into an atmosphere of subdued awe.

"W-what…is that…?" Albrecht weakly demanded.

Gorian tightened his chokehold and carefully dropped off the turret. He pressed the edge of his claymore against Albrecht's neck. He heard the Germanians yell for the Kaiser but Gorian maneuvered away from them, stiffening his hold to stop the peasants from attempting a grab.

"Let's see how loyal you all are to your beloved imperator," he sneered. Gorian kicked at the bandaged thigh and Albrecht buckled with a cry.

Sure enough, the crowd reacted. Including his own Tristainian strike team.

"Marshal!"

"Gorian, stop that!"

Yegor dropped to the ground and heaved the wounded and half-naked emperor to his feet. Having exchanged his claymore for the Makarov on Oleg's hip, he pressed the pistol against Albrecht's forehead as he inched ever so closer to the mob. He could tell that the nobility among them were edgy. The peasants failed to act concerned though they were genuinely unnerved by the spectacle.

Saito hopped over the barricade. "Boss, if I were you, I suggest going with the flow," he heard Derflinger mutter.

Damn it, if I had a choice in this matter would it ever be the right one? "Alright, Derf. I'm trusting you on this one…" He straightened his back and raised his voice. "Stay back! Fall back and he doesn't get hurt!"

Gorian grinned. "Your Germanian is good, Saito."

For someone who's been here longer than I have, how the hell do you not know about language spells? The Duke closed the gap between the armed peasantry. Sure enough, at the hysterical screams of the nobles, they withdrew. "Come on! Go back! Go home! Don't you dare mess with us or your emperor is as good as dead!"

"Louise, I don't know if I should follow Saito's lead," Montmorency nervously remarked, animated clouds of water devouring the fire and lapping the ashes .

The pink-haired mage gulped. She had seen her husband do all sorts of things in their time spent together. It was hard for her to consider this act as something rational. "Honestly, I'm more afraid of him now."

The blonde scowled tiredly. "I don't see how that helps us."

"Let me ask all you fine folk!" Gorian began, scanning his eyes across the ragged faces of the commoners. "What good has dear Albrecht Hohenzollern done for you? Has he fed your families or the families of those who torment you?"

"Oh no, you're not—" Saito was completed ignored.

"Has your emperor given an ear to the cries of the masses or the pleasantries of his own court? Perhaps your own court lobbies for their own personal interests over yours!"

Sure enough, the divisions became apparent. At the moment that some of the farmers lowered their arms, the nobles began shouting in an attempt to restore order. Yegor grinned at the disunity and prodded further.

"This man right here"—Albrecht winced as he felt himself being forced to stand upright—"only bothers with matters that benefit the nobility. Face it! You're not immune to the stigmas that haunt the rest of Halkeginia! Tell me, how long do you think you will toil for such ungrateful masters?"

A blacksmith raised his hammer into the air. "Nein!" An armored knight made to silence him. The blacksmith shoved him away and swung at his helm, crushing the man's head.

In the manner that gunpowder combusts and expands with tremendous force did the crowd finally implode. The chaos had simply escalated.

"Saito! Gorian!" Karin hollered.

The Duke froze in his step. Yegor continued pushing the line with Albrecht serving as the perfect human shield. "Can't stop now, kid! We're on a roll!"

The duchess stomped across the pier. "Gorian! They're done! Look behind you!"

Saito did. His eyes grew wide.

Yegor did not turn around just yet. He released Albrecht from his grip and pushed him into the mob. The sound of his screams were drowned out by the cries of the farmhands, the monkey boys, the villagers, and the lower castes. By then, he had already whirled on his heels and marched towards the fishing trawler waiting by the pier.

Duke de Ornièlles cringed when he chanced a glimpse. The last thing he saw of the Germanian emperor was the absolute fear occupying every inch of his bruised face as he sunk underneath the wave of plebes. He knew they would tear him apart limb by limb. He also knew that he wasn't the only one who looked away even as they pulled out of the docks and sailed further up the fjord.

Gorian dragged the strand of seaweed off the fuselage. "Bozhe moy," he breathed. "It has been a long time."

The seven intercontinental ballistic missiles were laid out evenly over the bay a few miles north of Kiel. The thrusters had been completely caked in grey mud though it was apparent that the fuel needed to propel them into the sky had long since been drained. The grime seeping heavily from the boosters served to confirm their uselessness in the air. Nonetheless, the nuclear warheads were still intact, each cone carrying the allotted amount of primed and undetonated multiple-reentry-vehicles, as the conical ends adorning the fore showed little in the way of anything.

"This is it," Saito mouthed. "These are the big bombs. These are what you were all trying to hide all this time. And to think we had stuff like jets hiding under our noses…" He made to touch them but withdrew his hand on instinct. He could feel a faint magnetic aura surrounding them. The opposition was blunting even to his own skin.

All he needed was physical contact and he would automatically know every precise detail of it—designation, range, payload. Alas, he could not. So he was forced to ask. "What are they?"

Vassily answered him. "RSD-ten-C, 'Pioneer' model, designated fifteen by forty-five by the GRAU. Each rocket carries three parcels capable of independently reaching the target within seconds of deployment in the air. I was once assigned to a brigade of the Strategic Rocket Forces so I know."

"Had we not been tasked with transporting these across the Caucasus, then we probably wouldn't even be here," Gorian bitterly remarked.

The Duke faced him, startled. "Why were you transporting them?"

The Marshal gave him a look of absolute indignation. Then he shrugged his shoulders. "Orders."

"What was Moscow even thinking?" Semyon muttered.

"Intimidation," Vassily replied. "It's my best bet. The geniocrats must have thought that showing our loins to the world would make them back off."

"Yes, but why did we even have to cart these damn things so close to the border when they have the range to strike from Novosibirsk?"

"The same damn questions that we haven't even had the answers to since we first got here," Gorian said. "I wonder how Moscow reacted when they realized that a handful of our nuclear missiles went missing overnight."

He looked at Satio. The young man looked back.

"There was no nuclear war when we were gone, was there?" the Marshal asked.

The Duke visibly recoiled. "What? No! Of course not!"

Vassily shrugged. "That answers one question."

Karin shuffled beside him finding the steel columns greatly impressive. Though bland, it was amazing that they were untouched after having been buried under mud and sea for three decades. "These are your so-called 'nuclear devices', I presume."

Yegor sighed. "Yes, Karin. They are."

"What harm could they do?"

The inquiry was delivered with a sort of childlike innocence. He tried to sound reasonable but his voice came out hoarse and touched with anger. "If one were to calibrate a single warhead towards Tristainia…the capital and all surrounding fiefs would be incinerated in the blink of an eye…"—he found it difficult to find the right words to describe it—"…and the earth would be poisoned for decades."

Prolonged silence.

"Why then would you build them?" Louise asked.

He read the terrified curiosity in her pink eyes. "Paranoia."

"It's…" Vassily added. "…a long story."

"Yegor," Semyon intruded, "how long are we going to stay here at this pitstop? We have to haul these out into the deeper ocean, remember?"

"I know, I know." Gorian motioned for the trawler sitting behind the sandbar surrounding the gulf that led into their little cove. "So we are going to make this easier."

Oleg crossed his arms, having finally come off the trawler that was crewed by the other Spetsnaz servicemen who decided to watch from the port-side bannister. "Oh, and how do you suppose we do that?" he asked.

"You remember how these missiles were designed. These are rockets and rockets are comprised of several stages, right?" Yegor got a series of interesting looks at that. He briefly switched to Russian before turning to the men on the boat. "Come on, comrades. We all know how this works. We did this before with the trucks. The fuel tanks are dead weight. Besides, we drained all the fuel so all we have to do is just unfasten the warheads themselves. They are what we are trying to get rid of, after all."

"Could you fill us in, Marshal?" Saito echoed. "We're still here, you know."

Gorian turned to him, tongue bouncing back to Tristainian. "Saito, we need to assemble a pallet. A big one. Fasten weights to all four corners. Stones, rocks, anything to kill the buoyancy."

Already, Saito caught the gist. "Wait a minute. Are you telling me that you are going to dismember the rockets—"

Krazov interjected. "Not necessarily dismember… It is more like to make the task of disposal easier. The missiles are designed in stages. The fuel stages are empty and useless. That just leaves the ordnance."

Guiche scratched his head. "So these things can be…dismantled or something?"

"Yes," Gorian replied. "However, it is a delicate procedure and any mistakes would be the end of us."

The rest of the platoon stared. "That's one way to put it," Saito mumbled after a long while. So one slip and we're all nuked on the spot. Great. Way to go, Marshal. "Hold on. Are you going to do all the dismantling?"

"Well, technically…" Oleg interjected. "We have…knowledge. Right, Vassily?"

"You brought these here and you yourselves don't even know how to take it apart?" Matilda groused.

"Hey, we didn't come here because we wanted to!" Misha snarled.

"That is enough bickering!" Semyon interjected, glaring at both the mages and his onboard comrades. "It would be much better if we all kept our focus on the task at hand. That goes for you all on the boat as well."

"Are the Elves still with us?" Gorian continued.

"We are here, yes," Bidashal affirmed from under the shade of a tree where his fellow Elves were resting.

Yegor, Semyon, and Vassily shared a glance before focusing their attention to Elder Alosh sitting timidly on a mound of dirt, staff in hand and hood hanging over his wrinkled unsmiling face. They could see his eyes looking back at them.

Vassily pointed his finger at him. "Your Elder. We will need him for this one."

It appeared that Alosh was as eager to lend his magics once more as he arose and extended his staff over the missiles.

"Here we go," Saito breathed. He stood still, sweat beading down his head and palms. Louise and the rest were unable to comprehend his extreme nervousness at seeing the Elven sage work.

"This must be really nerve wracking, huh," Montmorency remarked.

"That would mean that they are just as dangerous as they say it is," Karin replied. "Better to keep your guard, young lady."

As the younger mages steeled themselves for the worst, Karin watched Gorian and his associates observe the sage's spell manifest from across the yard. They were as equally stiff as stone as her son-in-law and though she could barely comprehend his odd behavior at times, she was beginning to understand why he acted as such. In this case, he was being very cautious. And so were the men she was forced to work with.

The missile arose at an angle, its boosters serving as the vertex. The rust began to flake off in bits from the rims that denoted the separated stages of the rocket. Gorian pointed at the cone.

Alosh seemed to recognize the synergy with the Marshal and slowly unscrewed the cone off its port. As it came loose and levitated onto the ground, Alosh released his hold on the booster and it landed back with a loud thud that shocked everyone back into normalcy.

"You could have at least handled that one better," Semyon loudly grumbled, clutching his chest and feeling his heart pound faster than they were in combat.

"What is done is done," Vassily said. "We should get to work on the other six."

"God, do we have to play green light, red light again?" Saito mumbled.

LAST EDITED: June 22, 2015

UPLOADED: June 26, 2015

NOTE: Hey, all. Sorry for the delay.