15.
Tora bounced happily in his room, adjusting his bow tie. He was wearing a smart, crisp black suit, complete with monocle and top hat. He growled in annoyance, glancing over to the bureau in his suite, carved out of rich mahogany. A mirror was on top of it, but he couldn't see himself in it – the Ardainians had not built their diplomatic suites for someone of a nopon's stature. It irked Tora a bit. He knew the nopon trade guilds were some of the few in the world still doing business with Mor Ardain. And yet even now, they overlooked them? Would it be so much to ask for a little respect for their steadfast business partners?
"Poppi, could you help your masterpon?" he chirped, pointing to the mirror. His blade was sitting on the edge of his bed, kicking her legs, looking thoughtful.
Absent-mindedly, she hopped off, picking up Tora so that he could see himself in the mirror. "Ah, yes," Tora said, smartly snapping the bow tie into its proper position. "Very good, yes yes." He squirmed, looking over his shoulder at Poppi. "What does Poppi think? Is masterpon looking smart and official?"
"Masterpon is looking very handsome," Poppi said distractedly, placing Tora down.
"Poppi has been very quiet. Is Poppi not excited? Meeting with rich Ardainian industrialists! Very impressed with Poppi's design." Tora preened, puffing himself up. "Of course they would be. None in world as advanced as Tora's designs-"
"Masterpon, we are supposed to be meeting with industrialists to investigate connections to Brionac party for Morag, not to show off Poppi's design," the mechanical girl chided.
"Well, yes," Tora admitted. "But is also exciting opportunity to show off Poppi, yes? Perhaps even get some investments for further research into artificial blade technology."
"Industrialists not give up money for free..." Poppi murmured. "If they give you money, wouldn't they want access to Poppi's designs…?"
Tora laughed derisively, rubbing his hands together. "Poppi has not yet begun to see extent of nopon bartering tactics," he said, giving a sharp grin. "A little flash and dazzle, and silly humans always give up their money. Humans can be good friends, don't get Tora wrong! But very, very silly with money." He cocked his head to the side, looking up at Poppi. "Is that what Poppi is so worried about…? Do not worry, Poppi's designs are closely guarded secret. Would never give them up."
Poppi sighed, sitting back on the bed, again looking off into the distance thoughtfully. "Poppi...less worried about that," she said, sounding as if she wasn't quite sure if she believed him. "Poppi...thinking about something Senator who was meeting with Emperor said."
"What's that…?"
"Masterpon said Poppi was first and only artificial blade in the world," the robot girl said, tapping her chest. "But….Senator knew Poppi was an artificial blade as soon as she saw Poppi. Like she knew what artificial blades were. How this possible…?"
Tora froze. "That...good point," he muttered to himself. He fidgeted, sadness suddenly creeping into his voice. "Tora's family...most advanced at building artificial blades...at cutting edge of research. Dadapon Tatazo and Grampypon SooSoo...during research, were in contact with Mor Ardain. Didn't seem like they had developed artificial blade technology of their own yet. They seemed far behind. But…." Tora's ears drooped, and he turned away from his blade, in case he found himself crying. "...but when...Dadapon and Grampypon's lab attacked, is true they stole Poppi's original designs and even prototype. Maybe...was Mor Ardain…that..." he shook his head, sniffling. "But no. Mor Ardain so behind, they not even know what to do with designs if they had them. Only people in world that could build artificial blades are Tora, Dadapon and Grampypon."
Poppi was silent for a moment. "Is it possible...that Tora's Dadapon and Grampypon might be alive?"
Tora covered his eyes with his wings, shivering. "I...I remember night attack happened. Tora's Grampypon was shot before his eyes. But...I suppose...Dadapon...Tora never actually see him die...Tora just assume…." He removed his wings, looking down at his hands. "Dadapon would never sell his designs...but...maybe Tora should have looked for him…?"
"Masterpon did best thing he could do in circumstances. Masterpon made Poppi. But maybe Tora's dadapon..."
Tora was, for once, calm, his normal happy bouncing stilled. "Is something to consider," he murmured. "Maybe...we ask industrialists what they know about artificial blades." He shook his head. "Ahh! So much stress. Now not only have to look for information for Morag, but look for dadapon as well."
"That what masterpon have friends for. They help him, Poppi is sure of it. After all, Tora is helping them! Would be rude not to."
Tora looked up at his bureau, towering above him. "Yes, rude," he muttered. Then he shook himself. "Ah! Well. Still. Excited to meet industrialists and maybe get investments. Other things...cannot get hopes up. Might be simple explanation. Tora...miss Dadapon more than anything in the world. But Tora accepted he gone long ago. Cannot get hopes up too much."
Suddenly he was surprised by Poppi's metallic arms wrapping around him from behind. "Masterpon can be very mature, when he wants to be," Poppi said quietly.
"Hmmph. Masterpon is mature all the time," Tora muttered. Then he drew in a breath, glancing over his shoulder at his artificial blade. "Poppi! Ball happening very soon. Run one last internal diagnostics test. We want to put best foot forward, yes?"
Poppi snapped to attention, saluting the small nopon. "Aye aye, masterpon!" She closed her eyes, and with a small, silent whir, began her self-diagnostics procedure.
Tora watched her for a moment, then nodded. He walked to a window, dragging over a chair with some annoyance so that he look out of it.
The landscape of Alba Cavanich was an endless stretch of smokestacks, smoldering, thick smoke rising into the sky from countless factories, leading to a permanent cloud hanging over the city, through which the sunlight filtered, dirty and orange. Tora had always heard much about Mor Ardain, and admired them quite a bit. No other nation in the world had the ingenuity they had. They might be behind Tora's family in terms of research, but they were an entire country that had embraced technology as a solution to their problems. Tora could appreciate that.
Despite himself, he found himself wondering, as he looked over the endless stretch of factories, whether his father was out there, somewhere, in the city.
16.
Nia hummed to herself happily, swaying across the public room of the imperial suite. For some reason, she found herself in high spirits. Brighid's solution to her dress problem worked out quite nicely, and it cheered her up just to see herself in the mirror. The more she saw the dress on her, the more she found herself liking it. Even if it was a bit on the fancy side, it really did look rather nice, leaf-like cloth woven together in a blend of autumn colors. Brighid herself had already left for the ball, with Morag and an obsidian-faced, stoically silent blade who called himself Aegaeon.
Dromarch watched as his lady admired herself in the mirror, smiling to herself, as he lounged on the luxurious couches the diplomatic suite had to offer. The one in the girl's room was positioned directly in the sunlight cast by a large window, and had easily become his new favorite resting spot. And the girls didn't seem to mind much that he spent his time there with Nia. One of the benefits of being a cat, he supposed. "My lady certainly seems in high spirits," he mused.
"Yeah, you know, I am," Nia replied, spinning around. "I dunno, I just feel cheerful." She was a little puzzled, honestly. Normally she wouldn't exactly be looking forward to dealing with a bunch of stuffy nobles. But for some reason...she didn't know why, exactly. But many of the things from her past that usually weighed her down seemed...smaller, right now, for some reason.
Dromarch was glad to see her like this. He might not know everything about how Nia thought, even with his ether connection to her. But through years of companionship, he knew...it might not seem like it, but she had a naturally happy disposition. It was often clouded over by something or other, but when those clouds parted, when she felt free, it shone through. Still, he thought he had an idea of why she might be feeling so cheerful in particular at this moment.
Suddenly, there was a knock at the door to the suite. Nia glanced at herself in the mirror one last time, then strode across the room to answer it.
On the other side was Rex. But he looked as she had never seen him before. She had always seen him in his salvager's outfit, dressed up as a mercenary, or more recently, walking around the diplomatic suites in an Ardainian officer's field outfit. But this…
Rex was dressed up in an Ardainian officer's dress uniform. Crisp clothes so black that it seemed like they were drinking the light, with gleaming gold and bright red trim, a bright golden cord tying a small, shoulder-length cape in place over a long black overcoat, his golden eyes staring out at her from beneath the shadows of a crisp officer's cap. Nia's eyes widened. "Wow, don't you clean up good," she blurted.
Rex sighed, whipping his cap off. "All a bit much, if you ask me. I mean, come on, a cape? But the staff insisted." He looked at her, raising his eyebrows. "Wow, I like that dress. Looks cool."
"I know, right? A lot of the ones they gave me were just way too fancy. But I thought this one was nice." Nia twirled around, the hem of the dress billowing around her, and now it was Rex whose eyes widened as he saw the cut of the dress from behind, revealing Nia's back to below her waist. He blushed, trying to keep the thought of how nice her bare back looked out of his head.
But Nia had turned to face him again, and the sly twinkle in her eyes and her fanged grin told him she had seen his blush. "Oh, look at you," she laughed. "Look at that blush! Oh, that's adorable. It's just a little skin." She crossed her arms, smirking at him. "Didn't you tell me you grew up in Leftheria? Don't they have tons of beaches there? Haven't you seen girls in bikinis and everything before?"
"I have," Rex snapped. And then he paused for a moment. He had. He'd seen more skin than a bare back before. So why did seeing Nia's in particular embarrass him so much? And he realized, with a start, that it was because it was Nia. And...Nia was more than just a stranger to him. And more than a friend.
Nia, meanwhile, had turned around, her back to him again. "Oh! Look out Rex, it's my back," she taunted, laughing derisively, her own cheeks hot. The thought that she had made Rex blush was...filling her with a strange, daring energy. She wanted to embarrass him more. She had the strangest, crazy urge to turn around and bite him.
Rex, cheeks burning, glared at the Gormotti girl, and refusing to let her get the best of him, reached out and poked her back. Nia's hands shot to her mouth to suppress a squeak as a jolt ran up her spine and down her legs. "Hey! That tickles-okay, okay, I get the point-Ah! Stop! Bastard!"
She turned around, slightly out of breath, a light blush staining her cheeks, and the way she was smiling at him, the way her eyes twinkled, the slightly predatory look she had...there was just something about the way she looked that immediately left its mark in Rex's memory. It was nice to see her so happy, the happiest he'd seen her since Vandham's death. And she was so pretty when she laughed.
They both became aware of the silence that had been growing between them, as they both stood simply staring at each other. "Well," Nia said, finally, "Um. I guess we should get going to the ball. Oh, hold on, this thing comes with a headpiece, let me grab it real quick..."
She ran back into the common area, snatching the headpiece off of a small side table next to the couch Dromarch was lounging on. He glanced up at her, giving her a strange look. "What, what is it?" she asked, as she adjusted the small crown of brambles and flowers on her head.
Dromarch stretched luxirously, arching his back and giving a massive, frightening yawn, revealing his dagger-like fangs. "Oh, nothing. Just nice to see my lady enjoying herself so much." He cocked his head to the side, giving her what looked like a small wink. "Just be careful with how much you tease young Rex."
"I wasn't teasing," Nia snapped. "Whatever, lazybones. You just sleep on that couch all the time. Don't come crying to me if Brighid yells at you for getting fur all over it, you know."
She crossed the room back to Rex, who offered her his arm with a mocking, sarcastic flourish. "Alright, milady, are you ready to attend the ball," he said, doing his best imitation of a stuffy noble's accent. Which wasn't that good.
Nia cocked her eyebrow at him as she looped her arm around his. "Where'd you learn this etiquette? I was sure I was gonna have to stop you from embarrassing yourself all night tonight."
"Oh, the staff again," Rex said, rolling his eyes, as they began to stroll their way down the diplomatic suite's hallways towards the ballroom. "Once they heard you invited me to the ball, they started drilling me on all sorts of proper etiquette. Titan's arse, it's ridiculous. Tiny little rules for every little thing."
"Now you see why I hated it so much." She reached out and adjusted one of the golden pins adorning Rex's chest, setting it back into its proper angle. "Honestly, staff like that are usually real sticklers for the rules. Most nobles don't mind that much as long as you don't break some major ones."
"Oh? And what's a major one?"
"Well, varies from place to place, really," Nia said mischievously. "But in Mor Ardain, I know it's the height of bad manners to not pull out a chair for your lady, or not hold the door for her, or to let her go hungry or thirsty..."
"Wait," Rex snapped. "You're telling me I have to dote on you? You're bullshitting me, right?"
Nia glanced away, trying to stifle laughter. "Ohhhhhh, I dunno! Better not risk it, huh?"
"Is this...is this why you invited me to this thing? C'mon, you don't even like that sort of thing, do you?"
"No," Nia admitted. "But it is pretty fun watching you get all worked up." She squeezed his arm. "By the way, I invited you because Brighid told me she's been giving you some dance lessons. I wanna see if you've improved."
"Hey. Those were supposed to be secret..." Rex grimaced, running a hand down his face. "Well. I guess I never did say. But it was implicit. Implicit!"
They were nearing the ballroom, now, running into a line of well-dressed Senators and other nobility. The men were all dressed much like Rex was, in black, crisp military uniforms, while the women wore a variety of dazzling, colorful dresses, some of which were quite revealing. Rex realized with some surprise that Nia had actually chosen a fairly modest one. Down the hall were a pair of grand, tall, golden doors, lined with crystal-clear windows, at least forty feet tall. He didn't know what the use of doors like that could possibly be. It must take at least three men just to open them. As they neared the doorway, he peered past them, into the ballroom itself. It was enormous, gilded with gold ornamentation and massive, bright chandeliers bigger than a house, the ceiling at least one hundred feet up. It was so big that Gramps could have had room to fly in there. A small portion of the room was lined with tables with flowing, stainless white tablecloths. In the back of the room, a grand, magnificent staircase, large enough for fifty people to walk across at a time, led up into the higher reaches of the palace. The walls were lined with artwork – usually romantic paintings of Mor Ardain's military victories. And in the middle of the ballroom was set out a gigantic feast, complete with massive ice statues carved in the likeness of the Emperor. With food being so scarce in Mor Ardain, Rex found himself wondering just how much they had paid for that.
"Right, well," Nia said, as they made their way into the ballroom. She glanced around, to see a gaggle of noblewoman gathered around one of the ice statuses. "I suppose if we're gonna hobnob, now's the time to do it. I'll go for the ladies there. You and Malos can go try to worm your way in with the officers...wait. Where is Malos?"
Rex laughed, suddenly, his eyes widening. "Oh, that's right. I didn't tell you. You aren't gonna believe this..."
17.
Malos sighed, tapping his foot as he stood in the soldier's training ground, the shadows of the night almost entirely cloaking him. He wore an Ardainian officer's dress uniform, in much the same style as Rex's, though the one the staff had supplied him with had silver trim, rather than gold, and the cap was decorated with a grinning silver skull. He wondered how the Ardainians felt about their officer's uniforms being handed out as dress uniforms for guests. He knew a many societies throughout history had looked harshly upon non-soldiers wearing their uniforms. But he supposed, if Mor Ardain was going to insist that everyone was technically part of the Ardainian military, that this was the sort of price they had to pay.
He looked around, at the buzzing electrical lights of the city casting long, harsh shadows across some parts of the streets, while leaving others as bright as day. Mor Ardain was an interesting society. Certainly, currently the most advanced civilization in the world. If he had to pin them down, he'd pin them as late industrialism, shortly before the invention of computers. Although it was hard to say. He'd seen a few automatons in his time here that seemed to suggest Mor Ardain had some idea of what computation was, but upon investigation, it usually seemed they were pieced together from some salvaged technology. Mor Ardain may have enough knowledge to clumsily manipulate computational devices, certainly, but not necessarily to replicate them, not just yet. But if he had to guess, they were likely right on the cusp of inventing them.
He shook his head. A troubling period of technological development. Old, ancient records and memories danced through his head. Late industrialism produced wealth unparalleled in previous human history, but also ushered in new forms of warfare that could see entire countries conquered in a matter of weeks, if not days. New propaganda and state media techniques could instill a fanaticism in a population just being exposed to them for the first time. Each country lived in its own self-aggrandizing mythos for much of history, but late industrialism was what let them truly test that mythos, to aggressively expand and apply it to the whole world. He wondered, what was Mor Ardain's mythos, that they'd make the world bleed and burn to test?
Although it wasn't late industrialism that would unwind a civilization. At least, the first time around, that had come a couple of centuries later…
He looked around again, glancing at a clock tower, its face lit up like a moon. It was already fifteen minutes past when Sylvie had told him to meet her here. Perhaps she wasn't coming. Rex, when Malos had told him about her invitation, had bought up the possibility that it might be a trap. But if it was, well, Malos was feeling a bit more confident ever since he had managed to repair himself during his last battle with Mythra, when Vandham had fallen. Mor Ardain might have the technology to interrupt ether flow, but Malos didn't rely on ether, his power came from within. There was only one person he had ever known who had been able to cut him off from his power. Haze. A most remarkable blade, that one was. He...never had been able to figure out how exactly she had been able to do that. He wondered if even his Father knew. Or were the blades evolving even beyond Father's plan?
Or did Father even have a plan, anymore? Malos...had admired his Father. His sheer, unparalleled genius. There had never been anyone like Him in humanity's long, tragic history, and there likely never would be, ever again. But…
Amalthus had climbed the World Tree. Malos had never met the man – only glimpsed him briefly, many centuries ago – and he could still scarcely believe it was possible. He was very curious to see the sort of man Amalthus was, to have climbed the World Tree through sheer willpower, with not even a Blade at his side to aid him. But when Amalthus had done that, Father had hidden, and allowed him to take the two remaining Aegis cores back to Alrest with him. And so had begun the long, awful war, Mythra's unhinged, howling madness…
This was why Malos wanted to return to Elysium, to confront his father. He wanted to know why. Was the world being torn apart really part of his plan? Why had he simply allowed Amalthus to take the cores? Amalthus could have never fought him – Malos knew that even he and Mythra combined could likely not harm Father, unless he willed it. And Mythra...why had he allowed her to cause so much destruction? This was Father. If He willed it, he could reach down from the World Tree, and force Mythra back into her core. And...Malos himself. Why had he been...allowed to be bought here? He...this form, again, he couldn't encompass what he had been like before he was in this form. But he had known that he was...thinking about something very important for Father. Had Father grown weary of his lack of progress…? Why had all this happened?
Malos was interrupted from his reverie by a loud honk, and he suddenly realized he was standing in the harsh glare cast by a pair of headlights. He looked behind him, to see Sylvie hopping out of a large, dusty jeep. She was wearing what looked like a ruffled pair of work clothes – a buttoned down shirt, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows, and a pair of black, pleated pants. Her unruly green hair drifted around her in the wind, only slightly tamed by being crammed haphazardly beneath a cap similar to his. He raised his eyebrows. He had not expected her to come alone.
She placed her hands on her hips, looking him up and down, eyes flashing. "Well now! I was almost expecting you to not be here."
"You're late," Malos said simply. He realized, suddenly, he had given absolutely no thought as to how he was going to play this. He hadn't ever been on a date before. It wasn't like it was getting to his nerves, and it wasn't like he didn't know how to play at being flirtatious. But he hadn't thought at all of what he was going to do to try to get information out of her.
She walked up to him across the courtyard. "Hmm. You look pretty good in that uniform." She glanced at the skull on his cap, raising her eyebrows. "I see someone's been giving you advice on how to impress a Brionac girl."
Malos barked a laugh. "Actually, they gave me a bunch of uniforms to choose from. Hell if I know what any of the shit tacked on them means."
To his surprise, Sylvie laughed mirthfully at that. She reached into a pocket, pulling out a pack of cigarettes, offering him one. He took it, and the light she offered, and they both stood for a moment, blowing smoke into the night, watching the clouds curl upward and disappear.
"Hey, look, can we just get something out of the way?" Sylvie asked, breaking the silence. Malos glanced down at her, curiously. She looked up at him, eyes flashing, quick and sharp. "You're the Aegis, aren't you?"
Malos was even further surprised, but he didn't show it. "How did you know?"
"Well, I didn't. I had my suspicions. But I sure know now, don't I?" Sylvie shrugged, taking another drag from her cigarette. "I mean, it makes sense. Important mission for Morag...she comes back, bringing a bunch of blades, and you...you match the descriptions in the history books...and, you know, it's not exactly like you were hiding well in Uraya. Spies don't just report to the Emperor and her, you know. Well, they're supposed to, about things like this. But, you know. Spies within spies."
"So...what is this then? Some sort of trap? Because look, I'll blow you and half this neighborhood up if I have to-"
"What? No. Sheesh." Sylvie tossed her cigarette to the ground, stomping on it. "I just wanted to get the bullshit out of the way. I mean, I could play coy all night, but that's no fun. Might as well get the truth out there in the open, right?"
Malos...actually felt sort of relieved. It did sort of annoy him to have to deal with disguises, and pretending to be something you weren't. He could understand it, sometimes. As silly as he thought Nia had been at first, he had come to understand why she might hide herself. Even if he thought she was still kind of stupid, insisting on hiding herself from Rex, who probably wouldn't even care at this point. And he had to admire the bravery of this woman, boldly coming alone to face the Aegis, brashly just admitting that she knew what he really was. "Well then," he said. "If this isn't a date, and it isn't a trap, what is it we're doing here?"
"Well, it's a good excuse to skip out on some stuffy ball, for one," Sylvie mused. "Here's my plan. We're gonna grab a bite to eat." She puffed out her chest, grinning at him. "And then I'm gonna tell you why you should fight for Mor Ardain."
18.
The ball was an event for the old nobility and Senators of Mor Ardain. And while that was all well and good, there was a whole class of Mor Ardain's powerful who were not necessarily invited to the ball itself. Her industrialists, rich and powerful businessmen who summoned Mor Ardain's factories into existence, tinkerers and investors, dismissive of the rules and etiquette of nobility. Although some of them were noblemen and Senators themselves – the lines drawn were not absolute.
It could not be said Mor Ardain was dismissive of them. While the nobles had their little ball, the industrialists gathered in a room adjacent to it. Not quite so large and grand as the ballroom, a bit more intimate and comfortable, it was a den with a crackling fireplace carved into black rock in one of the walls, lined with a few book cases – and instead of the artwork that the ballroom displayed, this room was a museum to the important inventions that had made Mor Ardain rich and powerful. Here was a diesel engine, resting awkwardly upon a pillar, there, taking up almost an entire wall by itself, an automatic loom, and there, behind a glass case, a disassembled radio, a dozen little displays of inventions, gears and pistons, tangled wiring…
"All very silly," Tora mused to himself, sipping from a martini glass that he had discretely filled with water. He wanted to seem sophisticated, but he really didn't like the taste of Ardainian vodka. "Inventions meant to be used, not be an art piece."
The meeting of industrialists was going fairly smoothly. Tora had immediately felt at home among them. And they had even had the politeness to bring along a few nopon-sized tables and chairs for his convenience. In fact, he had been surprised to find that a number of Mor Ardain's rich and powerful elite actually were nopon. Mor Ardain had some strict requirements on leadership – to build factories there, you had to renounce your position in any of the nopon Trade Guilds – but apparently it was appealing enough to some.
And unlike the stuffy ball a room over, the industrialists were much more loud and boisterous, roaring with laughter, showing off little inventions they had been tinkering with, bragging about business successes, even mocking the people next door. "Why go to the ball when I already own half the Senators there," one Ardainian, with a thick beard and dark bags beneath his eyes, chuckled as he showed off the design for a new pistol, disassembling it with quick hands, hiding pieces that he said were "trade secrets" with a wink, to a wave of appreciative titters and laughter.
"Hey, some of us are Senators, you know!"
"I see you, Donovan! Everyone knows why you're a Senator. Easy to get your factories subsidized when you can just propose it yourself."
"Hey. My factories are vital to the war effort."
"I literally manufacture hand grenades, you phony! You manufacture uniforms! What's more vital?!"
Tora ignored the bickering, smiling fondly at the circle of industrialists who were staring at Poppi with awe. Poppi was right, though. They definitely knew what an artificial blade was. They were less amazed that she existed at all, and more curious about her design specifications. Although they did seem very, very willing to throw money at him.
"Tora, my boy," slurred the latest to make him an offer, a somewhat drunk Ardainian woman, hair graying but eyes still sharp and bright, "Tell you what. You help me set up a factory where we can crank out five hundred of these Poppi units a year – just five hundred a year! And I can guarantee you, we'll both be so rich we'll be able to buy everyone in this room."
"I keep saying, Poppi's specifications not for sale," Tora said teasingly, taking a sip from his pretend-martini. "You impressed with Poppi now, Tora promises you he has not yet begun to scratch the surface. Has two-part upgrade plan. Later design iterations of Poppi will blow you away, Tora promise. Tora could use...a bit of research seed money. A mere one million go long way. Tora personally field test."
"Um, Masterpon?" Poppi called.
Tora glanced over. One of the industrialists had whipped out a screwdriver and opened Poppi's back panel, and was currently busy poking and prodding around the delicate gears and wiring back there. "Oh, now isn't that a funny little gear drive," he muttered. "And this wiring, so fine. Let's just take a little-"
"Hey!" Tora yelled, smacking his hand away with a wrench. "Excuse me! Is trade secrets! Also, violation of Poppi's privacy."
"Poppi not really care!" The robot girl shrugged. "Poppi a robot. People go digging through Poppi's guts all the time."
"Poppi, you make it sound weird," Tora muttered.
The industrialist cursed, shaking his hand, glaring at Tora. "Look, you're one of Bana's boys, right? You know we've been trying to get a look at these artificial blades of yours for years now. You can't just bring one out in front of our faces and then expect us not to try to take a peek under the hood. Be reasonable."
"What…?" Tora shook his head. "Bana…? Tora not have anything to do with him. Poppi his own personal invention…." His ears perked up suddenly. "You seen artificial blades before….?"
"Wait," said the industrialist, suddenly. "You mean you're not one of Bana's…?" He whistled, appreciatively. "Boy, you got guts, kid. He's pretty ruthless about keeping his monopoly on artificial blade manufacture and research." He glanced around nervously, backing up. "In fact, I think I'll just be keeping a safe buffer zone of about thirty feet between us. Nothing personal, of course."
"Tora not understand," Tora began, but he was suddenly interrupted by the entrance to the den swinging open dramatically.
"Well, well! If it isn't little Tora. Been many year since I see you. What's this MuiMui hears about you parading around an artificial blade when this town isn't yours at all?"
Tora completely ignored the small green nopon standing in the doorway, instead looking past him to the sad-eyed mechanical girl in a black maid's dress standing at his side. "...Lila…?" he said, wonderingly.
19.
Nia sighed, rubbing her temples.
Dealing with these noblewomen really was too much. Their inane jokes, the shrill tittering. Nia had quickly remembered why she hated this sort of event so much. Nothing that they talked about actually mattered. It was all silly, petty bullshit. Oh, and forcing herself to laugh along at their dumb jokes, their shallow pseudo-intellectual observations that they thought were deep, oh, it was driving her out of her mind.
She looked around the room, towards Rex. He had managed to get himself tangled up in a gaggle of very high-ranking officers. They….did not look like pleasant men. Hard, with faces like skulls, eyes sunk deep into black bags. Eyes that had seen so much death that it seemed normal to them, now. Rex was surrounded by a small circle of them, and...he didn't seem like he was having a good time. Even from across the room, Nia could see that he was paler than usual, and staring at the men with alternating despair and horror. It was sort of cute how he couldn't hide his emotions for the life of him.
With dread, she turned her attention back to the noblewomen and their idiotic conversations. To be honest, she wasn't sure where to begin, here. She couldn't even tell which of these women were Brionac or not. And the last thing they seemed intent on discussing was politics. Which was...kind of worrying. The only time they ever talked about the invasion, they spoke about it as an inevitability, like one might talk about the storm season. Maybe things were worse than Morag suspected. Even if she did find out how the Brionac Senators planned on going around the Emperor to initiate the invasion, would there be anything they could do to stop it…?
"You know, my dear," said an older noblewoman, and Nia suddenly became aware that she was the one being addressed. "I must say, you are so civil and soft-spoken for a Gormotti."
Nia felt her anger flash through her. Before she could stop herself, she snapped, "Yeah, well, you're very pretty, for an old hag." Shit, she thought, as the noblewomen surrounding her gasped in surprise.
But the younger noblewomen eventually broke out into titters, while the older one merely gasped and stormed off in a huff. "Now that's what I like to see," laughed a young noblewoman, red-headed and with a decidedly cruel smile, her dress woven to look like the rough waves of an ocean. "What's the point in having a Gormotti if they're not gonna let loose with those famously sharp tongues of theirs?"
Nia felt herself gritting her teeth. Is that what they wanted? Oh, she could give it to them. She could give it to them in spades. She drew in a breath to unleash her ire upon them, but glanced upward in surprise as she was interrupted by a voice booming out across the ballroom.
"Esteemed guests of the Imperial House," drawled a particularly unenthusiastic-sounding member of the staff, standing by the grand staircase, speaking into a microphone. "May I introduce his Imperial Highness, Niall Ladair, and of course...Princess Morag Ladair, right hand of the throne."
Walking down the stairs, wearing a matching pair of grim smiles, were Morag and Niall. Niall was dressed in a grand imperial regalia, an officer's suit, but colored in white and gold as opposed to black. Morag was wearing her field armor, as she always was. Niall was flanked by Brighid and Aegaeon as he descended the staircase, his sister hovering nearby. The poor boy looked exhausted. If there was any animus towards him for opposing the war agenda, the noblewomen didn't show it. They shouted enthusiastically, gossiping among themselves.
"Oh, isn't Niall getting tall! He's so cute," whispered one of them.
"I can't wait until he turns eighteen. Rawr."
"Hoooookay, I think that's enough for me," Nia muttered to herself, pushing her way out of the gaggle of noblewomen. She spotted Rex sitting at one of the tables, a drink in front of him, and made her way over to him, pulling out a chair across from him.
He looked...disturbed. He was stirring his drink idly, absent-mindedly, staring off into space, not even noticing that she was there. "Hey, Rex, snap out of it," she said, nudging him. "How'd it go? You get any info?"
He jumped slightly when she nudged him, his eyes suddenly focusing on her. "Oh...Nia," he muttered. "I...Architect, those men..." He held his head in his hands. "I...the way they talked about things, like a million deaths were just some part of some grand game...Architect, I think they really do want to conquer the whole world. I think they really think they can do it. Spent the whole damn time talking strategy about how they would do it. Maybe...maybe they can." Nia noticed him shaking slightly as he took a drink. "I wanted...to just slug them across the face for being such lunatics. But I couldn't. Ah, I'm such an idiot. I didn't even manage to get them talking about anything Morag asked about..."
"I mean, don't worry about it, yeah?" Nia replied. "I didn't exactly get anything useful out of those ladies either."
Rex looked around, finally noticing Niall descending the staircase. "Hey, look at that, Morag didn't have to dress up for this at all. No fair."
"First rule of royalty, Rex. You make your own rules." Nia kicked back, stealing his drink while he wasn't looking. "I-"
Nia was interrupted for a second time as the announcements continued. "And, oh, in what a rare occurrence nowadays, we have visiting royalty," drawled the announcer. "May I introduce-"
"YOU MAY NOT!" Came a booming voice from the staircase. Nia and Rex looked up in shock.
At the top of the staircase stood a tall, athletic looking man, broad-shouldered and handsome, an eyepatch strapped around one of his eyes, both his eyes and hair gray as stormclouds. He wore a long, tattered overcoat, strategically left open to display a well-muscled chest and carved abs, metallic armor strapped around his shoulders. He was dressed less like royalty or nobility and more like a particularly flamboyant mercenary, wearing large, armored and fingerless leather gauntlets. At his side stood what could only be a blade, a slim woman, tiny next to the tall man, with short green hair, sharp, elfen ears, and eyes hidden behind large spectacles, her outfit a purple and black top, a small ruffled sash of purple hanging down behind form-fitting shorts, her outfit adorned, with all things, lightbulbs. A tail extended behind her, but it seemed to be made of electrical wiring, with yet another large lightbulb crowning it.
"I make...my OWN introductions," the man announced dramatically. "Pandy, do the thing."`
"Gotcha, my Prince," his blade replied. She snapped her fingers, and suddenly the lightbulbs on her outfit began strobing different colors in rapid succession. She posed dramatically behind him as the man stepped down the staircase, jabbing a thumb at himself. "I AM-" he began.
"For the love of the Architect," Morag snapped, having reached the bottom of the staircase. She grabbed the microphone from the announcer. "May I introduce Ozychlyrus Brounev Tantal, also known as Zeke von Genbu, and his blade Pandoria. Any other nicknames this fool gives you are complete nonsense. Diplomatic envoy from Indol, of all places."
Zeke deflated on the staircase, glaring sorely down at her. "You know, it's not polite to interrupt a man's introduction, Morag. And no one's called me Ozychlyrus in years."
"I'm not in the mood for your games, Zeke," Morag snapped, still into the microphone, and then shoved it back at the announcer.
Zeke threw his hands up, as Pandoria demurely stopped her strobe lights. "Well. That's Morag 'Moodkiller' Ladair for you."
Gradually, the awkward silence the tense introduction had caused dissipated, as the crowds of nobles went back to tittering at the scandal or to their former conversations. Nia turned back to Rex. "Man, what a weirdo," she muttered. "Anyway...I think I've talked to enough nobles for now. I could use a bit of a break. How about you show me those new dance moves-"
"Uh oh, we got trouble incoming," Rex said suddenly, pointing. Nia looked, to see Zeke and his blade making a beeline straight for them, pushing their way past the crowds.
"Well well," said Zeke, finally making his way to their table, attempting to sound inconspicuous and sounding as conspicuous as he possibly could, "This table looks fine. Do you two have room for more?"
Nia looked around. They were surrounded by completely empty tables. "No we don't," she snapped.
"Good to hear!" Zeke replied, ignoring her. "Let's just grab some extra chairs."
Nia sighed, loudly, obviously, as Zeke and his blade pulled up some chairs to sit across from them. He was oblivious to her annoyance, though. "So," he said, addressing Rex, "I know Morag interrupted my proper introduction, so let me introduce myself. Pandy, do the thing. I AM-"
"We know who you are," Nia snapped irritably. "You're Zeke. We got it."
Zeke glared at her. "A man needs his introduction."
"What you need is to put a shirt on."
"Uh, excuse me," Pandoria piped up, crossing her arms. "Have you seen those abs? Those are art. You're asking my Prince to censor art, dude."
Nia put her fingers to her temples. "Oh….oh….it's….so stupid…."
While Nia was choked silent by her own irritation, Zeke leaned forward across the table, grinning at Rex. "So, chum. I'm actually on a mission here in Mor Ardain, and I was wondering if you might be able to help me out."
"Uh….okay…." Rex said, skeptically, awkwardly.
"I'm looking…." Zeke paused, for dramatic effect, before pinning Rex with an intense stare. "For the Aegis. Wouldn't happen to know anything about that now, would you?"
"Ahhhh, nope, don't know anything about that at all!" Rex cried, nervously, as Nia's ears perked up in alarm. "Sorry buddy, can't help you-"
"Don't toy with me, pipsqueak!" Zeke cried, leaping dramatically to his feet, slamming one of his boots down on the table. "I know you're the driver of the Aegis! Pandy and I tracked you down in Uraya, but you flew away on that Titan of yours!" He jabbed a finger in Rex's face. "Just admit it, hand over the Aegis, and this can all be over as quickly as possible!"
Nia was about to say something, but as she watched, a small turtle crawled its way out of one of the man's sleeves and plopped down onto the table. "Wh-what the bloody hell is even going on," she muttered, completely baffled.
"I, uh, I-" Rex stammered, intensely aware of the attention Zeke's outburst had garnered, feeling the eyes of dozens of nobles turning towards him. "Uhhhhh..."
Suddenly, Zeke was yanked back by his shoulder, nearly toppling over the side of the table. It was Morag, who had appeared so quickly and silently that Nia and Rex hadn't even noticed her approaching. "Oh, Zeke," she said, uncharacteristically loudly, "What a very funny joke you just made. Definitely a very funny joke, with no basis in reality. You and your wacky sense of humor, it is a joke."
The nobles turned their attention away from them. Rex heard a few of them muttering "Oh, it's Zeke, of course."
"Morag, what gives? This isn't a joke," Zeke muttered.
"Oh Zeke," Morag said, much quieter, "I could just, oh, I dunno, throw you out a damn window. How is it that literally every time you show up you find the most direct route to being a pain in my ass? It's a gift, really. I have to commend you."
Zeke yanked his shoulder out of his hand, folding his arms. Morag sighed in annoyance as Pandoria leapt to her feet to mimic him, crossing her arms beside him. "Look here, Morag," Zeke said, blissfully quiet for once, "I know this kid is the driver of the Aegis. I know you know that. I'm not an idiot."
"Debatable," muttered Morag. "But look. Just be quiet, and we can-"
And suddenly, she was interrupted as an explosion rocked through the ballroom.
20.
Malos had been expecting that Sylvie, being a Senator, would take him to one of the fancier restaurants Mor Ardain had to offer. Instead, she drove him to a sad, greasy hole in the wall, where they ordered a pair of pathetic, depressing-looking burgers. Malos garnered more than a few looks, being conspicuously overdressed. They didn't even bother to stay in the restaurant, Sylvie immediately grabbing his hand and leading him back to her jeep, insisting on eating in the car.
"There a reason you didn't want to stay there…?"
Sylvie shrugged, taking a gigantic bite of her burger as she had one hand on the wheel. "I dunno. I just sort of...like eating this kind of food on the go. One day, someone's going to invent a place where they hand you your food right in your car and make a fortune, mark my words."
"You have no idea how right you are," Malos muttered. He eyed the burger and fries skeptically, and then took a tentative bite. "Wow, this is...absolutely rancid," he said, coughing. "Phaugh! Terrible. If you're trying to convince me to fight for Mor Ardain, this burger single-handedly just ruined your chances."
Sylvie laughed, quietly. "Yeah. It is pretty terrible. But...being cooped up all day in that Palace, you can sometimes forget what the average person has to live with. We get the good stuff, while everyone else lives with rancid meat. It's good to remind yourself of that, every now and then." She took another big bite of the burger, reluctantly swallowing. "Besides, uh, you get used to the taste."
There was silence between them for a while, as Sylvie navigated her way through Mor Ardain's streets, eventually coming to one of the large gates leading out into the desert. With a wave of her pass at the guards, the gates opened, and she shifted gears as she began driving over rough sands and hard, scrabbled rock, headlights stabbing out into the darkness.
Malos was about to ask where she was taking him, when she glanced over at him. "So. Why did you agree to come out to this date?"
Malos shrugged. "Well. As long as you're being honest. I was trying to find out information on how Brionac was planning to go around the Emperor in initiating the invasion."
"Hah! Figures." Sylvie turned dramatically, going off the beaten path of vehicle tracks in the sand, now driving haphazardly over sand dunes. "Well, honestly, everyone is pretty much acting like the invasion's going to inevitably happen. I figured I was just eventually going to wear down Niall enough that he'd agree to it. Not like it's going to be stopped."
"Ooh, big lady, driving a little kid to exhaustion," Malos mocked.
Sylvie shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "Hey. That little kid is the Emperor of Mor Ardain. Not my fault he's the one that needs to be convinced. He should just give up, anyway. It's what the Senate wants. Emperor's supposed to work with the Senate, not completely overrule its will."
Malos was quiet, and Sylvie eventually came up to a large cliff, overlooking a humongous, sheer drop into a river of lava, hundreds of feet down, a humongous gash carved into the back of Mor Ardain's Titan, stretching for miles in either direction. Malos perked up as he noticed a gigantic cobra, easily forty feet along, slither dangerously just outside of the range of her headlights. "Hey, is it safe to be out here…?" he asked.
"Nope, not at all," Sylvie smiled. "Bunch of aggressive monsters."
"Whoa!" Malos shouted, as the gigantic snake darted in from the darkness, hissing mere feet away from his window, baring fangs as long as his arm, staring at him with flat, hungry eyes. He could see silvery scars lining its brown scales, each one sharp as a knife.
"Ooooh, guess you better protect me, big strong Aegis man," Sylvie cooed, teasing. "Come on, let's see some of that Aegis action. Impress me, big guy."
"For the love of..." Malos muttered. He opened the door and shot out into the darkness, tackling the snake, summoning his blade to his hand and sinking it into its hide. He groaned in frustration when he realized, glancing around, that there was more than one of them slithering silently through the sands around him.
Sylvie, in the meantime, had climbed up on the roof of her jeep, pistol in one hand, box of hand grenades in the other. "Hell yeah!" she cried, as Malos gutted one of the snakes and tossed it, hurtling and screaming, into the river of lava far below. "WOOOOO!" She fired her pistol into the night, yanking the pin out of a hand grenade with her teeth, lobbing it out into the night, the explosions echoing across the sands, attracting the attention of yet more snakes and awful beasts of Mor Ardain's deserts.
For the next hour, the dunes echoed with explosions and the sounds of battle. Malos zipped from beast to beast, slashing, spheres of dark flame flowing forth from his fingertips, devouring, slaughtering. Black blood and vile ichor arced through the air, staining the sands, soaking his uniform. With delighted contempt, he held open a snake's jaw, snapping one of its own fangs off to drive it through its own eye. "Are you insane?!" he shouted, laughing, as Sylvie reloaded her pistol, yelling into the night, unloading it into the skull of a snake that had curled around behind him.
Finally, all the beasts of the desert fled, either knowing they didn't have a chance, or lay dead at Malos' hand. He glanced around grimly. The smoking, skeletal remains of snakes and various other beasts lay sprawled around him. He couldn't even count how many he had killed, having thrown so many into the river of lava. He wiped thick, vile blood from his face, flicking it from his sword, and glared up at Sylvie, who was laying on the top of her jeep, face in her hands, kicking her feet idly in the air. "Well, count me impressed," she said slyly.
"So," Malos said, stepping over the twitching corpse of a gargantuan snake as he made his way back to the car. "To try and convince me to fight for Mor Ardain, you've given me a shitty burger, and shown me her Senators are lunatics. This is the worst marketing campaign of all time."
Sylvie stared quietly at him for a long moment. Then she nodded her head towards the massive cliff. "You recognize that?"
"No."
"During the Aegis War. During the battle that sank Torna. Oh, yeah, buddy, you better believe Mor Ardain keeps good records of stuff like that. Mor Ardain's Titan was close by, to lend assistance, and got caught in the crossfire between you and Mythra. Got this massive wound, that nearly killed it." She looked at him, face mysterious in the darkness. "Pretty sure it was one of yours, wasn't it?"
Malos was quiet for a long time. That battle...all he remembered of it was how much he had been focusing on Mythra, oblivious to everything else around him. "It's possible," he conceded, quietly. "So what's your point? I owe you?"
"No, not at all." Sylvie shook her head. "I don't blame you for it at all. Mythra had to be stopped, no matter the cost. If one or two Titans died in the process, it was all worth it, because otherwise the world was going to end." She hopped down from the top of her jeep, opening up the back, tossing him a towel to wipe the gore off him. "That's my point. That's...why I always admired you, you know. When I read through the history books. You did what needed to be done. Even if people hated you for it." She shook her head. "People...don't understand the big picture. It's not like you enjoyed wreaking havoc on Torna and Mor Ardain. But it had to be done."
Malos paused as he wiped blood from his face, staring at her. That was...precisely how he felt. But it disturbed him to hear that logic coming from her. "Where are you going with this?" he asked, quietly.
Sylvie sighed, leaning back against the side of her jeep, looking up at the stars. "The world...it's running out of Titans. Most countries are just now becoming aware of it. Mor Ardain noticed centuries ago. We're the only ones that keep meticulous documentation on that sort of thing. Which new Titans appear, at what rate they are appearing. We noticed a downturn centuries ago. It took another century of data for us to realize that it wasn't just due to random chance – that the birth rate for new Titans really was plummeting. We...sent out expeditions all over the world. Tried to find out if the new Titans were just hiding somewhere undiscovered. We tried warning other countries. They didn't believe us, or just ignored us." She shook her head. "It's only now, now that it's obvious, and way too late to do anything about it, that they care."
"Why didn't you try doing something about it?"
"We don't know what's causing it! Still don't. Still the biggest mystery of our times." She nailed him with a hard stare. "Don't suppose you know, do you?"
"Uh. No, actually," Malos mused. "Father probably does. But He's been….silent."
Sylvie waved her hands dismissively. "Well. The reality is, here we are. Stuck on a world with dwindling resources. The reality is, we're going to have to find ways to squeeze blood from a stone. All of us. The entire world." And here, she waved her hands at the fantastic, blinking lights of Alba Cavanich, far off in the distance, a glow in the desert that was visible for miles. "Well. Who do you suppose is really, really good at making something from nothing? At squeezing wealth from precious little? Mor Ardain."
And suddenly, she rushed forward, grabbing Malos' hands, staring up at him intently. "Don't you see? That's why I love my country so. Even in the face of bleak despair, they created something beautiful. And we can show the rest of the world the way. Things aren't so bad, yet. We can squeeze centuries, millenia of wealth out of the remaining Titans, properly managed. It can buy us time to find a real solution. To find out what's happening to the missing Titans, or learn to create new ones ourselves. We're the best hope this world's got."
Malos stared at her, silently. So this was Mor Ardain's mythos. "And that makes it worth conquering the world," he replied, quietly.
"It didn't have to be like this. When I was younger, idealistic, I tried negotiating with Queen Raqura to hand over administrative control of Uraya voluntarily." Sylvie shrugged, ruefully. "You can probably guess how that went. But other countries, what do they do? They hope for salvation from the Architect. They pin their hopes on wild dreams of Elysium." She gave him a meaningful stare.
"I mean, remember who you're talking to," Malos laughed. "I know for a fact that the Architect and Elysium both exist."
"Okay, but he hasn't come down and saved us, now has he? So we can't rely on him, can we? You say he's been silent. Maybe it's a test, to see if we can save ourselves. No gods, no Elysium. We save ourselves, by our own hands. So yes – if what it takes is a war, then that's what it takes. Even if people hate us for it...we do what needs to be done." She smiled at him, triumphantly. "That's why you should fight for us, Malos." She laid a hand on his face, suddenly tender, eyes gleaming in the moonlight. "I know as an Aegis, you're different. Amalthus awoke Mythra, but...she went off on her own, later on. Addam awoke you, but he's long dead, and here you are with a new driver. You can choose your driver, can't you? Let me be yours, and fight with me for Mor Ardain. I understand you. You did what needed to be done, and...I always thought you were so noble for that. With you, we can end the whole war so much more quickly. We can stop Mythra again, together, with the entire Ardainian military at your back. We can even go to Elysium, figure out a way to get there. And you won't have to worry about dragging a child into your war." She grinned, nodding back at the corpses surrounding them. "I'm no stranger to combat, and I know the costs. It makes so much sense."
Malos was quiet for a very, very long time, his face cloaked in shadows. It all...sounded more appealing to him than he liked to admit. It shook him, down to his very core, to hear his own logic, his own reasoning, being used to justify the conquest of the world. Had he been right? Had he made the right choices? If he had, would it make sense, then, to go with Sylvie…? It seemed ridiculous, on the face of it, but so much of what she had said sounded tempting...
Or...had he been wrong? Had be been the monster people seemed to think he was?
Before he could answer, they were both distracted by a loud, echoing explosion, shattering the silence of the dunes. They whipped their heads back towards Alba Cavanich. "What was that…?" Malos snapped.
Sylvie shielded her eyes. "Sounded like an explosion...where'd it come from…?"
And then they gasped in shock as another explosion echoes out across the silent desert night, and a gout of flame burst from the windows of the largest building in Alba Cavanich. It had come from the Palace.
21.
"Lila…?" Tora muttered, approaching the mechanical girl with some awe. "Tora...not understand! How can Lila..."
"Hey. HEY!" MuiMui snapped, stepping forward to jab Tora in the chest. "Tora, pay attention! MuiMui talking to you!"
"Masterpon, who Lila?" Poppi asked suspiciously, staring at the other artificial blade with some trepidation.
"Lila….Poppi's original design," Tora said wondrously. "But her design stolen, her prototype stolen, night lab attacked by mysterious green nopon. How she can be here…? Simply not possible."
Poppi looked at her masterpon. Then she looked at MuiMui, who was a green nopon. "Masterpon…really? Come...come on."
"Tora," MuiMui said, almost pleadingly, yanking at his arm. "MuiMui is talking to you. You listen."
Finally, Tora glanced at him, furrowing his brow in consternation. "Who the hell is MuiMui…?" he muttered.
"THAT'S IT!" MuiMui cried. "Tora step foot in wrong town! You and artificial blade are coming with MuiMui! I in charge of all artificial blade research now! Lila, initiate attack pattern delta! Do not harm Tora, I need his big stupid brain!" MuiMui reached into the pockets of his lab coat, drawing out a pair of shiny, black submachine guns. "Party is OVER!"
"Oh cool, he's using my new model!" cried one of the industrialists, before MuiMui began firing wildly into the air, and the industrialists screamed and began fleeing from the room.
"Roger, masterpon," Lila said, mournfully. She held up her fists, which retreated into her sleeves with a mechanical whirr, transforming into a twin pair of cannons.
"Oh, right, delta is the bomb one. Crap," muttered MuiMui.
A massive explosion roared through the palace, sending smoking debris and shattered glass flying into the ballroom. Tora groggily plucked himself up from the burning wreckage, smoke rising from his fur, glancing around himself. All around, there were nobles in fancy dresses running screaming from the spectacle. Suddenly, Poppi filled his vision, helping him to his feet. He looked around in panic as gangs of Tirkin began hopping through the windows, the small, ugly bird-creatures looking odd carrying rifles and pistols awkwardly in their claws.
"No let Tora get away!" he heard MuiMui cry from behind him. He glanced around. There, from the smoke of the destroyed den, striding forward purposefully, was Lila, MuiMui riding on her shoulders. "Estimate he can increase productivity at least eighty percent! Millions in profits! Millions!"
"If weird green obvious murderer of Tora's Dadapon and Grampypon wants Tora," Poppi said, boldly stepping in front of him, "He will have to go through Poppi, first!"
"Okay," said MuiMui. And he laughed wildly as Lila strode forward, her arms transforming into large, hydraulic presses, shooting his guns haphazardly into the air.
Halfway across the ballroom, meanwhile, Zeke, Nia, Rex and Morag were struggling against the suddenly fleeing crowds of nobility, trying to push their way past the flood of humanity running in the other direction.
"Niall?!" Morag cried, panicking. "Niall! Where is he? Is he okay?"
Zeke, taller than the rest of them, stood on his tiptoes, peering over the crowd. "It's okay. I can see him. He's by the staircase. Aegaeon and Brighid are both with him. He looks alright."
"I...okay. Thanks," muttered Morag. "What's going on though? Who's attacking…?"
"Can't...c'mere, Pandy," Zeke said, and Pandy gave a delighted whoop as he swept her up and placed her on his shoulders.
His blade peered around, over the confused, chaotic crowds. "I...huh. A lot of Tirkin. None of them seem to be going for the Emperor, though. There's...uh. Two nopons fighting with robot girls, if you can believe that. Man, this is way more interesting than most Ardainian parties."
"Tora!" Rex cried.
"Wait...two of them?" Nia muttered, at the same time.
"Alright, here's how this is going to go," Morag snapped. She turned to Nia and Rex. "Neither of you have your blades with you. You've got no defenses against gunfire. You're going to help these crowds evacuate. Zeke and I will deal with the Tirkin. And…whatever unfriendly nopon with robot girls might be over there."
Nia and Rex both looked as if they might protest, but another explosion rocked through the ballroom, and the crowds around them grew shrill with panic. Together, they nodded, and then ran off, pulling shrieking, stunned nobles with them towards the ballroom doors as they went.
Morag and Zeke finally pushed their way through the crowds, emerging on the other side. Brighid was at Morag's side in an instant. "Aegaeon took Niall up to the throne room," she murmured to Morag. "Although I don't think this is an assassination attempt. I...my goodness, what is going on here?"
In the center of the ballroom, a crowd of Tirkin were converging toward Poppi and Tora, who were desperately holding them back while MuiMui and Lila weaved in and out, attempting to grab them.
"Right. Which one's the friendly nopon," Zeke cried, summoning a massive, glowing sword to his hand from Pandoria.
"Green one's the bad guy," Morag muttered, as Brighid's blades appeared in her hands as well.
"All I need to know."
With a crack of thunder and a roar of blue flame, Morag and Zeke dove into the crowd of Tirkin, sending dozens of them flying, squawking in pain and fear, in explosions of singed feathers.
"Morag!" Tora cried in delight, seeing her fight beside him. Then he glanced up at Zeke, who was taking out multiple Tirkin at a time with massive swings of his humongous blade. He was, Tora noticed, always swinging with the flat of the blade, slamming the Tirkin pretty hard, knocking them senseless, but never killing them. "And. Uh..."
"Oh! Will I get a chance to do my introduction?!" Zeke cried, swinging his sword. "How are you, littlepon. My name is Zeke von Genbu!" He swung his sword again, and lightning laced through the crowd.
"Oh, I hate this," Morag muttered, sending a wave of blue flame through the Tirkin surrounding them.
"I think it's kind of cute," Brighid smiled as she concentrated at her side. "Look how Pandy's all synced up with him. Come on, that's kind of cute. You have to admit."
"BRINGER, OF, CHAOS!" Zeke roared, every word punctuated with a swing of his blade that sent Tirkin flying through the air. "Mostly known as Zeke! And also, the Zekeanator!"
"Has anyone ever called you that?" Morag snapped, dancing around him, Brighid's ether shield deflecting bullet fire.
Zeke ignored her, scooping up his blade by the waist, flinging her into the air. Pandoria did a graceful flip, landing in the midst of a crowd of Tirkin. "This is my blade, PANDORIA! Pandy, do the thing," he cried, and Pandy erupted with lightning, stunning and electrifying dozens of Tirkin.
"And my sword, the Purple Lightning Dreamsmasher!" Zeke roared, holding his massive blade up in the air. He slammed it to the ground, and sparks rose up from the floor, electrifying yet more Tirkin.
MuiMui, still perched on Lila's shoulder, looked around in alarm as his gang of Tirkin dropped like flies around him. "Meh!" he snapped, smacking Lila on the head. "Lila, forget about capturing other artificial blade, too. Tora is important target. Grab him and run!"
"Roger, masterpon," Lila said, sullenly, and she dashed between Zeke and Morag fighting the Tirkin. Poppi dashed in front of her, getting between her and Tora, glaring at her defiantly, but one punch from the hydraulic presses on Lila's arms sent her flying, skidding across the floor. And then Lila reached out and grabbed Tora by his tuxedo, locking him into an iron grip.
"We have him! Go, go, go!" cried Mui Mui, and with a small roar, jet boosters erupted from Lila's feet, and she rose into the air.
"Masterpon!" Poppi cried frantically.
"Poppi!" Tora squirmed against Lila's grip, but it was no use. She rose further and further into the air with him, staring upwards.
"No!" Poppi cried, igniting her booster rockets on her own feet, desperately flying after Lila. Lila glanced down at her, sadly, and rockets erupted from her back, dozens of them, trailing smoke as they soared after Poppi. Poppi ducked, and weaved, and maneuvered through the fire, but was not quick enough. A rocket caught one of her boots, damaging it, causing the jet booster to slowly sputter out, and with a shriek Poppi crashed to the floor, hard enough to crack it.
She didn't feel it at all, though. Didn't even notice. Her eyes were locked on to Tora, still struggling against Lila's grip. "Masterpon, no," she whispered, miserably. "NO!" She cried, as Lila gave her one last, lingering glance, and then took off, crashing through a window, disappearing rapidly into the inky blackness of the night. "Masterpon! TORA!" she cried, struggling to her feet, kicking her boots, trying in vain to get her jet boosters to work again.
The last of the Tirkins was lying unconscious, or had fled. The ballroom was a smoking mess of overturned tables and debris. Morag smartly snapped her blades to her side, as Zeke and Pandoria high-fived each other. Across the ballroom, she noticed Poppi kneeling on the ground, her face in her hands. She approached her, tentatively, and as she drew near she could see the artificial blade's shoulders hitching with wracking sobs. "Poppi…?" she asked, carefully.
Poppi looked up at her, miserably, the normally cheerful orange glow of her eyes dimmed. "Poppi failed her mission," she sniffled. "Masterpon is gone."
Note
Hey, sorry for the late update, this chapter was actually kind of difficult to write, it took me much longer than it usually takes to write something of this length
Anyway I'm very tired so I don't have much to say, as always please comment if you can