"We don't know what we're about to witness. It will be historical I can tell you that. And its probably going to be very violent as well, if the day's past events are any gauge of the enmity these two estranged sisters have for each other.
"Right now where we are, following Galatea, is tranquil compared to the chaos and destruction that surrounds what once was Tokyo's Olympic precinct. The Police and emergency services are overwhelmed. The military has been called in – certainly they will be too late to intervene in the duel that is about to take place, the fate of which the Earth may hang.
"If Galatea wins, is that the end of the boomer threat for good? Does it prove beyond all doubt that Galatea was for us from the beginning and deserves her freedom and our respect?
"If Sylia wins, the terrorist mastermind driven insane by her father's mad experiments, is there a power left to stop her from unleashing a boomer army on civilisation?"
Galatea grinned despite the gravity of the situation. Rhonda was playing hard for her and had the world's attention. What she was saying was true enough: this was a watershed moment. If she lost then her rogue children would indeed wreck themselves upon humanity and with Sylia's intellect advising them, they would be hard to defeat. She'd seen enough of humanity to know that they wouldn't obliterate the city with nuclear weapons, to be sure. She would do it however, if it came to that.
Let's hope the thought doesn't occur to Sylia. Ruling over a ruined planet would not be satisfying.
"She won't win, Rhonda. I will end this, this morning."
The boomer mass, nearly two hundred feet high and a thousand in diameter, was in the process of replenishing itself with the last of the Stadium. There was little left to work with for either of them. The sand was neutered, useless to either of them. Her children had their bulk, but they would have to expend it to attack her and she would try to infect it with her own essence.
Who would tire first, what it would come down to. Would her mastery overcome their mass? A simple scale of quality versus quantity.
As she walked closer she could feel it, probes of consciousness testing her. In reality it was not a sense, not a mental connection; microscopic spores hesitant to get to close, knowing that every nuclei was precious and could not be easily given away. It thickened and swamped around her, darted towards the drone seeking to acquire it. She swatted out with her hand and they scurried away.
It the mass had been a head shape before it had flattened itself during the debris barrage. Any facial features had vanished from the surface, its neanderthal core seeking refuge eep in the interior.
Galatea stopped a few yards short of it, safe that no portion was hidden underneath the sands.
"Come out, Sylia. Show yourself!" she shouted.
There was no reply, until -
"Looks like you're going to have to go up and get her."
Galatea turned.
Not far away Priss settled to the ground and crossed arms.
"How?"
"Oh, this?" Priss patted her Hard Suit, "Thanks for showing me how I could make this. It's great to be back in it. Great for killing boomers."
"Galatea, that is Priss, one of the Knight Sabers," Rhonda, through the drone said.
"Yes,"
"Priss, what are you doing here? Who are you fighting for?"
"My friends and this city. I hope these two," the blue motioned with her helmeted chin to Galatea and the giant boomer, "put each other in the grave."
"Spare me the trouble," Priss added.
"Just keep out my way," Galatea didn't want the distraction. If you get yourself killed, I had my use out of you, she decided not to add aloud.
A few steps and she was on the mass. It trembled visibly and she stopped.
"What was that?" Rhonda exclaimed. "It is going to attack?"
Galatea's heart picked up pace. She had to be ready for anything, from anywhere. She started again, heading right for the peak.
"You going to be a hero back there, Priss?"
Jibes of bravery, whether foolhardy to respond to or not, were too hard to Priss to resist. She ran to an even level with Galatea, still apart, toward the same nexus.
"Aren't they going to fight?"
"You forget who is dictating strategy now. Your boss, remember?"
The attack had already begun. Priss wasn't in-tune enough with her new body to sense it yet, not until there was permanent damage. Beneath her own feet, Galatea was already waging the war. Every step was an artillery blast, a trading of blows as Sylia tried to infect her and she tried to infect her children. Each step it would try harder, she could see the path before her bulge and knot in preparation. Behind her the contest continued, her small distractions requiring a larger effort on Sylia's part to subdue: her infections spread faster and required more expenditure to counter. If looked at close enough the inert damaged sections, useless to them both, spread behind her.
Cracks were starting to show on Priss' heels.
"Come out, Sylia!" Galatea shouted again. "Sylia!"
From the top of the mass a tower began to rise.