Planning is the most widely accepted form of procrastination; no plan survives contact with the foe.
Rikarius Sidonus; Fieldmaster of the Twenty Third Shadow Guard

Time seemed to pass by at a crawl, as it always tends do so whenever something in the near future is in need, and essential for a person's continued use, Anna thought. If that affected everybody around them, well, at least boredom would lend her company to survive the maddening wait.

Indeed, remarkably few bursts of fire had been exchanged over the past days, even as Raven and Fabricator scurried over the ironclad transports in preparation for the suicidal operation. Birgir had made his opinion of an insertion forty kilometers behind enemy lines without numerical superiority, secure supply lines, and any other tradition military advantage quite clear upon Varro's first uniform briefing of those who would take part in the inevitable assault, but watching the swelling ranks beyond the fortified pass seemed to have recently gagged the Master of the Guard, at least until Varro offered his next suicidal plan without the option of democracy.

As for Elsa, Anna thought with a quiver for concern, her sister had been somewhat recluse after Varro's visit, rarely emerging from that sealed dugout. But whatever it was that had Elsa's attention, Anna decided confidently, it couldn't hurt them, judging from the icy blast of wind that occasionally escaped through the door gap.

If Elsa was choosing to hone her skills, Anna could go on for another few days in solitude.

She rounded another corner of the trenchworks, paying little heed for the inherent need most others needed to maintain in keeping their heads out of a sniper's sights. Though she had never appreciated the necessity to constantly look up at an angle upon anyone's face, her slightly shorter than average height saved her back, as she continued her walk, keeping her eyes to the holographic interface that digitally painted her path upon the ground with the screen before her eyes. Eye contact with those occupying the trenchworks did not seem like a grave matter of importance, given the white, or deep naval overcoats that decorated their forms.

Aside from the small command post situated behind the edge of the line that defended the pass, and Elsa's dugout, the trenchworks were Hans' territory, given to the line infantry of the South to defend to the last. As a result, it was no surprise that Anna had her cowl drawn over her head, concealing her, for the most part, in shadow. Coupled with the distinctive black cloak that was draped over her shoulders, clicking gently against the heel of her extended leg as it rose for her next step, and donned in a Guardsman's carapace, there would be little reason for any resident of the trenches to provoke a conversation with the wraith like figure.

'Anna?'

She halted mid stride, a cold hand seizing her insides and turning them upon one another at the voice. Slowly, she turned about, finding a figure of undesired memory greeting her gaze once more.

'It's you right?' There should have been uncertainty in that gentleman's tone, but she could only find that confidence that enthralled her from the very beginning. 'Under the cloak.'

Silently, she lifted the cowl.

'Listen,' Hans sighed, running a hand through his own filth ridden hair, 'I know that right now, you probably detest me. Hell, if you did, I don't blame you; you have every right to, it's just that...'

He trailed off, defeated, and through that mask of deception, Anna saw the cracks beginning to emerge in that once master facade.

What was it that Varro had claimed to have seen in that face? Regret, she remembered at least a hundred denials. Somehow, it had seemed convenient to label Hans as a sociopath unable to emote empathy, but try as she might, the man before her was not the same one that had floated before her eyes as he extinguished her last hope to survive the cold. Perhaps the wear and tear of command had finally snapped the man from his childlike desperation for remembrance as a hero; seeing what it truly meant to burden the responsibility of lives.

After watching them die, Anna could have easily believed, even from the snake himself, that he no longer craved the ascendence of leadership. Rather, he had received it in his own way, and soon found he found greater content at the bottom of the ladder, without the worry of all those beneath himself.

'I know it doesn't seem like a lot,' he tried again, 'but, for whatever it's worth, I'm sorry. For everything I did. I know it's just words, but...'

'You don't need my forgiveness Hans,' said Anna in a quiet tone, 'you just need to forgive yourself. And Hans?'

He met her gaze, uncertainty in his eyes.

'Words are just words. People will remember you for your actions.'

Anna regretted the very words the moment they had left her lips, but there was nothing more to be said between them. Awkwardly pardoning her presence, in no small part due to the flashing alert on her wrist's datapad, Anna strode away with the haste of a stallion, willing herself to avoid the emerald eyes that were probably boring into her back with every passing moment until she had made her way back to the black cloaked warriors, beyond which no sane man would walk.

'Aren't you in the least bit worried about them?' Kristoff asked insistently, earning a scorning remark from the lead black cloak, who promptly proceeded to mutter something unflattering in regards either the distance from which they existed from the demon line, or to the stuffing between the man's ears. Perhaps it was both.

'I mean, well, we're a little exposed out here, don't you think?'

Anna was on the verge of adding her agreement, when she saw Plinus turnabout, irritation marking his every muscle. Even though the entirety of the platoon at his back was indeed a native of Earth, any hint of contribution to Kristoff's repeated inquiries died at the thought of a hostile Blademaster. The poor man was on his own, and though none were willing to acknowledge it in front of the ill tempered black cloak, there was a pool of bets running on how long it would take for Plinus to finally send one of their number off to greet their ancestors.

Right now, aside from those who had bet on the thirteen hour mark since the drop, who only had their eyes set upon the prospect of substantial winnings, concerned glances were the only support he'd be getting for quite a while.

'When will they learn to appreciate silence?' the Titulian simply asked the sky, before he turned back to the path, ignorant of any answer it might have given him, for the Great Father did not seem to commute with the average footslogger; only whispering his will into the constantly vigil members of the Council.

They resumed their climb up the gentle slope, winding past friendly hideouts and firing stations as they went, receiving the odd wave from a man of Arendelle, or simple nods from those who had come from beyond the stars. Each construct was irregularly placed, Kristoff noted, each varying to it's situation. A web of snow encrusted webbing pulled over a small depression in the ground, concealing the multiple barreled cannon that lay nestled within it; a tree that clung to the cliff face like a stubborn child, ignorant of of the single figure that lay perched in it's branches, rifle at the ready.

He wasn't to know it of course, but his count of the defensive posts was already a gross understatement, having missed a great deal of Titulian manned positions that had simply not taken the trouble to advertise their position to prying eyes.

At least, not until they had greeted their foe with a torrent of firepower.

And then there were the 'dead nests', as Varro had addressed them; concealed locations that were currently unoccupied, usually built a small distance further back from their predecessors, or connected by shallow tunnels that permitted a garrison to displace with ease. And some would simply remain barren until the end of the war, used as distractions for other fire teams, and forcing the enemy to scour every emplacement they discovered, uncertain if it contained naught but a discarded cloak, or a trio of Guardsmen, armed to the teeth with scatter rifles and heavy blades to tear out an intruder's throat.

But without the occupants to guide his eyes to their locations, Kristoff was eventually forced to surrender in his efforts to identify a dead nest, somewhat gauled by the fact he knew they had already passed three from the map on his wrist.

Although the visual interface that extended from ear to ear across a human's eyes was undoubtedly useful in combat, their users had eventually discovered that long term usage would inevitably cause discomfort upon strained earlobes, or the rapid digital display was simply proving too disorientating for some users, leaving them bleary eyed at the experience.

As a result, the Fabricators had scoured what wrist datapads they could, usually after 'donors' had removed the inbuilt screens from their own suits, to place upon the more rudimentary auxilia exoskeletons the men of Arendelle wore, having found a wrist readout to be proven obsolete long ago, since the data had been overlaid across their sight.

The component had quickly found use amongst the Arendelle forces, and now, it seemed the average soldier spent more time checking his wrist than the ground before him, much to Plinus' dismay, as he let a sharp whistle cut the air, snapping the team's attention back to the ascent before them.

'Still got a ways to go before we hit the summit,' he uttered softly, forcing attention to his words, 'so lets keep moving.'

'You still haven't exactly told me why we're headed for the North Mountain,' Anna grunted, stumbling to keep on the track Plinus had taken through the snow. It was no secret that the Obsidian unit had laid down proximity mines across the ground taken in the previous evening, but even with the 'guarantee' from Varro that their suits were linked to the recognition software in the explosives, the more reserved response from the Fabricators themselves had led to the belief that, for some reason or another, any moment, a man was expected to leap into the air in a terrific display of a once-in-a-lifetime example of acrobatics before scattering himself over the immediate area.

As a result, it was hardly surprising that the majority chose to mirror Plinus' steps like the plague; Anna included.

'Kris still hasn't told you?'

'Hans kind of took precedence in conversational topics,' the man piped up, crunching the snow underfoot with little effort, regardless of it's steepening inclines.

'Then would you care to inform the lady?'

'In a nutshell,' Kristoff recited, 'practice.'

'For?'

'For whatever Varro's got planned in the coming days; I didn't exactly ask much more because, well...'

His subtle indication in Plinus' direction said enough. As he had just proven, Plinus was hardly the most accommodating member of the Fifty Ninth when it came to inquiries.

'I get it,' Anna groaned in mock distaste, a grin forming across her face. Unfortunately, such a rare feature on the frontline was not to last, as Plinus shifted himself about once more, scab hued eyes bearing down upon the pair, uncaring of their royal status.

'Pardon?' He asked, deceptively innocent. Nobody answered him. 'You were saying something about why you felt clarification was unnecessary?'

Someone checked their datapad, noting the time, before returning their eyes to the scene.

'Um...'

'No reason, Plinus,' Anna put in quickly, drawing the shadow's gaze, 'your explanation covered all bases.'

'Is that so?' For the number of people present, Plinus was somehow impressed at the number of straight faces that remained. He'd play along a little longer, he decided. 'And were you actually present for the briefing, and not speaking to some jumped up shit from down south?'

'Didn't need to be,' Anna replied as confidently as a crippled lamb could face a pack of wolves, 'Kristoff gave me the full run down; absolutely perfect brief; he could remember it word for word.'

'What?' The poor man looked on pleading for his wife to shut up, but Anna was committed.

'Really now?' The Blademaster asked incredulously, slanting his head slightly to the side, 'And your assessment?'

'Couldn't have done it better myself,' Anna declared, 'Short, sweet and to the point. No doubts left behind.'

'Is that in address to his briefing, or mine?'

'Eh, they're the same, Plinus,' she stuttered. Calling someone by their first name was not usually a means to prompt survival, but in the case of the Guard, any address to rank seemed stale at best, particularly when that rank was of lower placement than the speaker's. 'It's crystal clear; I was born ready.'

She could see Plinus hesitate at that, although she was uncertain if it had to do with the fact she'd trapped him into either backing down, or admitting his explanation was far from satisfactory, being limited to a generous fifteen syllables as it was. If that was not the case though, then it probably had something to do the 'incident' that had followed the last time she'd made that declaration, and promptly landed herself in the med bay for the rest of the day.

Plinus gave her an ill look; so much so that she was certain any plant would have withered and died on the spot under the soul piercing stare.

'Good to hear,' he snapped, finally turning back around for the summit, trying his best to block out the victorious glances being shared behind his eyes with every passing moment.

After all, if he didn't see them, one could always convince himself otherwise, regardless of the possibility.

It was another three hours before the small body of fifteen, moving at the forced march they had begun with, arrived at the rendezvous, just below the preserved remains of the sanctuary Arendelle's sovereign had once built for herself in both fear, and freedom. Truth be told, the task was one of little exertion; even though the suits given to the humans were by no means the most advanced in the Guard Arsenal, the powered servos within it's joints acted in tandem with each synchronized nervous system, powering a limb forward in place of the muscle beneath it. As a result, fatigue was hardly the issue.

No, Anna decided; the only problem that faced the assembled force was the phalanx of barrels that had risen to confront them upon their approach, seemingly ready to tear them to bloody shreds in a spectacular, if not painful, protest of their arrival.

But like all dangers that now inhabited the mountain, such a greeting was only a token measure of protest, as the muzzles dropped softly to the ground, still clasped in metal gauntlets, but nevertheless held without threat.

The black cloaks were not alone; amongst them also stood men and women she recognized from Arendelle's streets, and a rather familiar figure, clad in aquatic hues of fabric and glass, lay perched on a small outcrop, deep in silent contemplation. And then of course, there were the shifting Titulians themselves, each one a scarred, battered hulk that had endured the recent hell of the Entracus Keep at her side.

'Glad you could make it,' Varro boomed, stepping past the staggered line of cloaks, 'I was starting to wonder if you'd taken a hike down a crevasse.'

'The only crack around here that could kill us is yours,' Plinus scoffed without a break in his tone, 'and I'm not referring to the asshole at your back.'

'He has two?'

'Easy to believe,' Plinus continued, his tone unaffected by the raucous laughter that surrounded him, 'both spout shit like there's no tomorrow; I was just talking about the one at the top of his neck.'

'Honestly Plinus,' Varro sighed softly, mock disappointment already marking his tone over the comm net, 'I'm hurt to hear that all that meets your ears turns to crap.'

'What?'

Plinus didn't get another word past his lips before the Titulains had doubled over. Of course, the Blademaster had been the only one to not recieve Varro's entrapping message, sinking him back into the sober reality, in which obtaining the parting words with his Battlemaster was only a passing dream at it's very best.

'Better get that stuffing out of your ears, then, Plinus,' Girius rumbled from the side, 'shit in the head is particularly nasty, I hear.'

'Alright,' Varro sniggered, letting his friend finally off the hook, 'I take it Plinus gave you the rundownof what you're doing up here?'

He was met with blank stares.

'Good to hear,' he laughed, 'frankly, if he'd shared it with you, I kind of doubt I'd see a single face up here. Aside from you Anna; we'd probably have to tie you up just to keep you down there.'

Seeing the continued confusion that marked their faces, Varro simply nodded to Girius, who promptly proceeded to the cliff face, slammed a fist against his chest in a mark of farewell, and stepped off into open air.

Aside from Anna, Kristoff, and the few who had accompanied the ill fated team on their early drops, any other onlookers watched on with bewilderment, in no small amount of confusion at the 'demonstration', and fearing such was what was soon to be asked of them in the coming hours.

'Putting it simply,' Varro announced, 'you'll be learning to fly.'

'What I don't understand,' Anna began, snapping the fabric that linked her limbs into a single glider back into the framework that enveloped her suit, 'is why you even pull us off the line for this. I mean, well, you are all already trained for these jumps aren't you?'

'Stage seven of basic initiation for any Shadow Guardsman,' the monotonous voice replied, 'unfortunately, I'm not sure if you noticed, but we are in a bit of deficit in that right now, and an attack on a Storm Gate is no easy matter. So you lot will form the bulk of the assault group, that is if you can actually make it down there without killing yourselves.'

'This is obscene!' Kristoff screamed in response, as he hauled himself clear of the river the most recent drop had descended into, 'there's a reason we weren't given wings! It's because we were never meant to fly!'

'To fly and to glide are two very distinct methods of transport,' Girius chuckled, to Kristoff's chagrin, 'one of which requires biological evolution, and the other just needs tech, and skill.'

'Is that a hint of pride?' Anna asked in bewilderment at the flippant attitude, 'we nearly got killed!'

''We' as you lot,' the Guardsman enunciated, slanting his head in address to practically every other present, save for Anna herself, 'first time flights in mid combat tend to provide the best learning experience, if one survives it.'

'Well I ain't flying into a hellstorm just to learn how to do it again,' Kristoff grumbled, 'isn't there an easier way?'

'Why yes,' Plinus started, his voice already mocking the man's logic, 'one could for starters, actually heed Warden's matrixes and follow the path it sets out for you, rather than blundering into the stars.'

'I might have actually considered that an insult,' the artificial voice whispered in the collective ear, 'if it weren't for the fact Bjorgman's visor was in fact unreadable due to frost.'

'I'm sorry,' Elsa was already apologizing, before her voice degenerated once more into a splutter of water being forced from a windpipe, as she bent over, hacking out the contents of the river the tail end of the party had 'chosen' as their landing spot.

Truth be told, Varro had severely miscalculated the capacity of the humans to learn on the job, particularly when one of their number had a tendency to produce a blizzard around herself in times of panic, even if such was to occur two thousand meters into the air. Without a grave deal of existing experience, and coupled with the storm conditions that had practically persisted throughout the entirety of the drop, it had been only through a miracle that no one had been killed in the descent.

Despite their vulnerability to sub zero temperatures though, the visual interfaces each new paratrooper had essentially been ordered to use, on penalty of death by either gravity or Varro's hand, could have easily been attributed for the survival of the ill fated first wave. Connected to the Fifty Ninth's chirpy A.I. for extended calculus of flight trajectories, before the necessary adjustments needed to stay on path were relayed back to a user by the virtual reality overlaid by the screen, the flight matrixes had managed to keep people from falling over too large a region, and provided sufficient proximity warnings to deploy landing systems before anyone released their landing chutes only upon impact with the ground.

'I won't lie Varro,' Girius breathed, 'that storm made things a hell lot harder than our usual drops.'

'You survived Erion,' Varro snapped as he dragged a partly submerged Hendrik from the river, 'a snow storm should be a cakewalk.'

'Lighting storms don't have high speed winds that can tear up a formation,' Plinus observed distantly, 'and our formation will take casualties if we deploy with the number we'll need to break the defenses of that ship to take out the Storm Gate. No disrespect intended, Elsa, but doctrine is clear. You stay behind.'

'What?' Anna blurted, before immediately clamping her mouth shut too late to truly change any impact she was about to have, 'I mean, she's probably the only one who could get us in and out of there. You said it yourself; it's like an ant's nest in there.'

'A Stormcaller that kills herself and her team on the descent gets us no closer than a team without the said Stormcaller,' Plinus explained with rather cold logic.

'Just hold that thought, Endrian,' a cooler voice interjected, somewhat distant with the thoughts behind it, 'do you think, Elsa, given enough time, you could control it?'

'I guess,' Elsa mumbled, never quite certain of what her emotions would bring next. Truth be told, any clarity she had found in her capabilities vanished when that plunge of gravity seized her by the gut, and threatened to pull the said organ out of her being, by the throat. Attaining a clear mind under those conditions, whilst under fire, could be tantamount to suicide with ease.

Anna though, being Anna, naturally did not have her sister's pessimism.

'Elsa already survived the Raven's Road and the Eagle's Perch,' she shot triumphantly, trying to keep her gaze locked with Varro, and away from the equally bleak Plinus, who was once again voicing his opinions in regards to her 'suicidal' tendencies under his breath. Paying as little attention to the Guardsman as she was, the only detailed response she could make out was a rather crude interpretation on the long term effects of being struck in the head by a shard of ice.

Naturally, Anna let it slide.

'Look, she's already conquered what none of us have ever had to face,' she tried, pleading to the Battlemaster, 'just a little more time and I'm certain she could do it in her sleep.'

'Anna,' Elsa started, her tone already revealing her wishes before the words met the ear, 'I appreciate the faith you have in me, but this is something I can't do Anna, I could kill someone...'

She trailed off, not knowing if Varro had indeed shared the full truth behind their foes with her sister. A quick glance into her eyes was all she needed to know to be sure; that optimism and resolve that had filled her heart the day it had nearly met it's end was all there once more.

There was no way the Battlemaster had shared the ugly truth, and neither would she.

'Look, I could be of more use back here,' Elsa protested, 'if the Perch falls, we all fall; the men could use a hand bolstering the lines.'

'Holding that line will not matter if we don't cut the demon's line of reinforcements,' a sharp voice cut in, silencing them all, 'and if anything, our little incident here might well provide our only means to actually reach the damn ship in one piece.'

'Varro,' said Plinus, already shaking his head, 'time isn't a commodity we have in great wealth right now. We can't waste any more of it arguing about this right now...'

'And so we shan't' Varro snapped, raising himself upright. 'It doesn't change facts; Foresh has enough forces to detect any air drop. Frankly, the whole damn sky is full of harpies. A blizzard would effectively shield any approach; it'll force down interceptors, and give us a window to make in without visual detection.'

'Riding a snow storm all the way into hostile territory?' Girius noted softly, the concern evident within his voice, 'aren't we pushing luck a little too far, Varro?'

'There's no such thing as luck, lads. Only the Great Father's Will, and our faith in His Will. And in all honesty,' he grinned, turning about to face the two sisters once more, 'I trust Anna's assessment more than your's Elsa. Tullius is en route to shuttle us back to the launch position, so get ready. You've given us a way to get out of that hell hole alive, so make sure you do it right.'

'How?' Elsa spluttered, already sinking into the depth of her situation, 'I'm probably going to lose it again; it'll only be a matter of time before I kill someone...'

'There's only one way we all get anything done right, Elsa. Practice.'

Unfortunately for the distracted Queen, the next inevitable jump, and the gamble wherein one could only hold their breath and pray that no one would meet their end upon the harrowing descent, the life dashed from their broken body by a stray wind she could only hope to control, was delayed.

Perhaps even more disturbing was the fact that once again, the 'issue' was one of her making, again. Fate seemed to added her name long ago to a strange list of those to be tormented throughout their days amongst the living.

'Don't ask me what the hell it was,' Marnus started, as he dressed a bleeding leg, 'but the bastard just came at us out of nowhere, from our blooming flank no less.'

'Will he live?'

'I've been through worse,' Hestus grunted, exhaling forcefully to the touch of the sealant rippling into torn tissue, 'I'll live.'

'I was asking about the other guy,' Varro coughed gently, drawing a black laugh from even the incapacitated black cloak, 'dead, I take it?'

'Not exactly,' Marnus put carefully.

'Close to dead?'

'Hopefully,' the Guardsman replied, divided between his work, and arming his brothers to survive, 'but with that thing, I don't know; it pulled back up that way.'

The sight before the small company was more than sufficient to complete Marnus' instructions upon finding their tormentor; the perfectly forged staircase up to the spire of ice was now one of ruin. Well, Varro amended, the design had already sustained a small measure of desecration prior to their arrival, with a small section of the guardrail removed, but now, both sides had been sheared away by brute force, leaving unevenly cracked supports protruding at strangely regular intervals along the the passage, as if some monstrosity had lumbered down it's length to sate it's bloodlust, before trudging back to sanctuary, having bitten more than it could chew by tangling with Guardsmen.

'What was it?' Anna was already asking, though her tone surprised Varro. It was not one of shock; more like the slightly lowered tone of concern, at the possibility of recognition.

'Big guy,' Hestus spat through gritted teeth, though why Anna assumed it was teeth that restricted his speech was beyond ever own capacity to fathom, 'but I've never seen a demon like that before. Top heavy, but legs like twigs, and a temper like a Blademaster; it would have nearly been funny if he wasn't trying to kill us.'

'Was he made of snow?'

'Say again?' Truth be told, the answer was already known to both winded Guardsmen, but it was more out of shock of the Princess' knowledge of their recent aggressor that elicited the instinctive words.

'You knew about this?' another voice asked, the slightest threads of accusation beginning to enter the Guardsman's vocals.

'Maybe a little,' she conceded, glancing weakly to Kristoff and Elsa for some support, before Plinus took it as a prompt to throw them off the cliff Tullius had just dropped them onto, 'but I didn't know he was, you know, still alive.'

'Who is 'he'?' The message was clear; any more procrastination was a tantamount invitation for the expressed route off the mountain.

'Whatever happens,' Anna warned nervously, turning back to face the irate black cloaks that brought up the rear of the formation, 'maybe you guys should stay back here.'

'And let the snowman do my job for me?' Plinus scoffed, 'you won't last a minute against that thing.'

'He has a name,' an equally concerned Elsa whispered from further ahead, as if she was afraid the guardian she had once built to protect her sister would no longer recognize it's creator.

'Seriously?' Hestus coughed with no small measure of humor, and disdain, 'I nearly got my leg torn off by a chunk of ice called Marshmallow?'

'Would you be quiet?' Kristoff hissed, 'I don't think he'll take too lightly on us walking in again.'

For the danger they had just faced, the Titulians were remarkably detached from the grim fate Hestus had nearly endured. With the number of injuries the joint forces were sustaining, Elsa was fairly certain that Teronius would eventually run out of replacements for amputated limbs, but whenever they had dragged someone into his quarters, screaming for the same deliverance from death he had always offered, it had happened. Without pause, barely blinking as he, and the Artificial Intelligence that assisted him, took stock of the injury, before calling up another surrogate example of biology.

With the medical station being placed as far back as it was from the line, now that they were at the Perch, there seemed to be far fewer euthanizations occurring in Teronius' care, as any who were doomed to greet fate were usually dead by the time they were wheeled to the Guardsman's doorstep.

Even so, having yet to adopt the rather morbid acceptance of the Guard, concerning the eventual destination all life tends to head, the Queen of Arendelle was still somewhat restrained in dealing with her rouge sentinel, as she edged open the doorway.

'I'll go in alone,' she decided aloud, before Anna was already alive with protest regarding the danger of the act.

'Are you mad?' her sister began without pause, 'he'll eat you alive!'

'Come on Anna, I made him. I hardly think he's going to adopt the 'kill on sight' policy you people seem to have at the forefront of your minds. No offense intended, of course.'

'None taken,' Varro muttered, slightly raising a hand before an irate Plinus, though in all likelihood, the slight grunt of frustration that had left his friend's helm was only in jest once again.

In all likelihood.

Like the stairwell before it, the palace was unchanged to the day of it's creation. Despite the passage of three summers, it's mastery still charged the air; the same spires of ice crystallized where the imagination had placed the construct in a liberated mind, before a swift burst of the cold had forged it as a reality. The...

The same damnable floor, Anna thought as she hit the ground after a few bitter moments of denying fate with an ungraceful slide.

'You okay?'

'Easy for you to say,' she mumbled from the floor, accepting her kin's offered hand, 'you have some grip on your shoes.'

'So do you,' Varro called unhelpfully from behind the Queen, 'it's the person behind the boot that's got a design flaw.'

'What, like in the head?'

She was met with a short burst of hearty laughter, unable to suppress a grin forming across her own face. Ever since Plinus had discovered the incident of her youth, and her abnormally reckless attitude, it had become the butt of any Guardsman's reference to the kin of Arendelle's monarch.

Unfortunately, Anna was somewhat misled by her sister's stability on the ice, being the product of honed practice alone, and the sudden addition of a weight pulling in a single direction was sufficient to drag Elsa off her feet, and land both sisters against the ice.

Groaning in an effort to still the soreness that rippled across her back, Anna scrapped her hands past her eyes instinctively, as if to clear the spiraling dots across her sight, only to feel her stomach lurch.

It was the same horrible plummet in her gut, as gravity assumed control of any descent, only this time, it was the Earth itself that oscillated, prompting her brief ascension and imminent fall.

And as she stared in a direction she could only perceive to be upwards, from her supine position, two massive pillars that had not existed prior to the thunderous intrusion now stood to attention, their bases barely a meter from her eyes.

A familiar roar filled the air, and in an instant, she was dragged upward, into a unwelcome pair of sunken, pupiless eyes.

They were already filled with the glowering icy blue.

'I told you,' the snowman rumbled, before ascending to a roar, 'don't come back!'

A second later, and Anna was sailing through the air, slamming straight into the assembled black cloaks in the doorway. Though Varro and Plinus, being at the head of the column, had sufficient warning to dive out of the way, Girius' first, and last, sight of the structure's interior was a flailing body that promptly cannoned into him, sending the sprawling mass of armored carapace tumbling back down the way they'd came.

'Great Father, he's a fighter,' Varro whispered, removing the rifle's safety restraints with a thought as he snapped the weapon up to bear, 'come on you lumock!'

The Titan stumbled backward at the first burst of hellfire, blinded in the wake of the successive flashes of fire blossoming against it's eyes, before shards of ice began to punch through the infuriated snowman's form, replacing snow with sharpened instruments designed to kill.

'Stop it!' a voice cut through the air, locking both sides where they stood, 'Varro, give me a moment.'

'I could really advise against that, Elsa,' the Battlemaster mused, nearly entertained at the stumbling embodiment of winter, 'Warden's survival prediction matrixes are not exactly in your favor...'

'Get out, Varro,' Elsa snapped impatiently, a good deal harsher than she'd intended for fear of any more damage between people meant to be working together. Well, she quickly amended, a hulking, living piece of snow, and a band of whatever in God's good will she could expect to find beneath the carapace suits.

Leaving no room for discussion, she let a new wall erupt from the ground, separating the two standing Guardsmen from her overly zealous protector, before brute force behind the cold shield finished the job, shoving the black cloaks out of the door, and preventing another series of blows between those she hoped could exist as friends.

'I don't care if you feed him a bone,' Plinus grumbled softly, as they watched the titanic construct take it's leave down the mountain, 'as long as he's at least ten meters away from me, I'll rest content.'

'Ten meters is still close enough to kill,' Girius mused, tossing another medical kit in Marnus' direction, 'ain't it, Anna?'

He was only replied with another yelp of agony from the far side of the clearing, as Legion's healer continued his work, deaf to the protests against his administration of another vial of sealant.

'You'll thank me later,' he was saying, in a tone that certainly did not indicate sympathy to any degree.

'I've bruised a rib before!' Anna screamed in retaliation, drawing a thin smile under the helmets within audible range, 'and I didn't have my...'

Her retort gave way to another expletive, followed by at least another half dozen whilst Marnus tidied his set away, content that his patient would not kill herself in her efforts to survive the coming days.

'Let me guess,' he continued in a sarcastic tone, 'he told you to bed it down for a few days? Take it nice and easy, eighteen hours sleep, something like that?'

A sigh was already leaving his lips before the healer had even spared a glance in Anna's direction, to confirm his suspicions.

'Useless, I tell you,' he mumbled under his breath, his voice still laden with enough sarcasm to drop a ship to the bottom of the ocean, 'utterly useless, these idiots telling their charges that they can just doss about while a bruise goes away. No wonder you're still in the stone age; people don't move their arses after they've broken a bone or two.'

'How the hell did you even bruise a bone before?' Varro snorted, joining in the fun wolves seemed to enjoy, as they danced about crippled prey, nipping at the heels, until the eventual meal effectively translated to a mercy killing, 'a person in your position, you know, soft mattress, hot meals every bloody day; how did you crack a bone?'

'Boredom has it's ways,' was the only reply offered, much to the disbelief of the assembled black cloaks.

'So does suicide,' Plinus chuckled, before he pulled himself upright, 'look sharp.'

There was an assortment of movement to Elsa's approach, having earned a small measure of respect amongst the witnesses to her unfathomed success with the rather short tempered creature. Though her actions on the Raven's Road, and over her first hectic night over the Eagle's Perch would have warranted a legacy in history by a human's account, the spectacles were of little triumph for the Guard. True, they were all beyond the capacity of the 'normal' Guardsman, but even so, a kill ratio entering double digits was a badge of office amongst black cloaks, rather than an entitlement for a medal.

But brokering peace with a half feral beast, conjured from the Storm?

Many firsts were already being made with the Fifty Ninth's arrival on Earth, and now another had been added to the growing list, though trust for the lumbering behemoth would have to wait another day; wary eyes and ears continued to trace the mountain's footsteps long after it had vanished from sight, ever vigil for any indication of a falter in the beast's steps, or the increase in volume, signaling it's return up the path.

'You continue to surprise, Elsa,' Varro boomed, welcoming her return to less volatile figures, at least by his standards, 'never thought I'd live to see the day we'd fight alongside one of those things.'

'You just need to learn how to say please, Varro,' Elsa replied, through a thin smile, 'and maybe put the rifle away for a little longer.'

'Maybe,' the Battlemaster conceded softly, 'maybe. But don't think a stunt with popsicle stick is going to wipe my memory; we don't have long to qualify you for a combat drop.'

'Come again?'

Varro only spread his wings in answer, eliciting another groan from the stricken Queen, although no Guardsman could identify if the sound emitted from her lips, or her turning stomach.

And like their Battle master, no Guardsman was capable of even the remotest form of empathy, their own memories of their first flight each altered by the Queren in their veins, to an experience of elation, rather than stark terror.

Naturally, such artificial manipulation was not of need in some cases, such as the mind of Endrian Plinus, who stepped up eagerly in answer to Varro's silent invitation to meet the Great Father.

'You didn't think you were getting off that easily, did you?' he snickered, as he proceeded to walk three feet forward, followed by another hundred feet, in the only direction gravity worked.

'Hesitation will be the killer,' Girius added, following in suit, and disappearing ominously from eyesight, leaving Elsa to speculate once more on the possibility that fate could send the black cloaks straight into the Earth, leaving the more sober members of the party to make their way back down the mountain, as nature had intended; upon the two legs God had gifted to them, rather than a mimic of a bird's wing that was incapable of ascent: only descent, at a speed that seemed far faster than gravity could achieve alone.

Unfortunately, Varro was smart enough to stay behind his subordinates, and the less enthused participants of the jump course, providing no other means of leaving the mountain, save the cliff.

Anna's own enthusiasm certainly did not help confidence; as with many people, Elsa's own willingness to plummet of the face of the rock was not inspired by the sight of all those she once knew, or at least presumed she knew, approaching the same feat without fear, despite a field surgery in the chest.

One never wished to become the incompetent black sheep, but paralysed by the height and knowing of what she'd have to control in mid flight to prevent a terrifying experience from becoming a deadly one, Elsa was content to hold off the jump a little longer than most.

Unfortunately for her, fear of the impatient Battlemaster gradually proved stronger than her fear of the drop. Or, she quickly amended, Varro had simply proved an obscene deal stronger than her own meagre strength, judging from the ease at which he'd shoved, or rather hurled her off the cliff.

As the ice crystals began to creep across the dark fabric stretched between her arms, and the helmet's display began to warn of wind forces rivaling a storm event of a hurricane beginning to amass around herself, Elsa could only manage a single rational thought, before mind was diverted to keeping her lunch down where it belonged.

This is going to be a long day.

Author's note: Thanks once again to anyone who's kept up with the story this long; means a lot to me. Again, special thank you to PascalDragon: I really appreciate all the support you've given. Feedback's always appreciated guys: if you've got the time, let me know what you think. Next chapter might be a while in the making, since things are going to really start into a real slice of hell on Earth.