This would never work.

With coordination and organization, probability transmits possibility.

But look at them all! They just… blindly followed Kris with no plan, no nothing, just a few chanted words. It was insane.

Darkners follow. It is written law. They bow, they suffer for their leader. Impure Darkners are simple creatures.

What about pure ones? Did it seriously believe they would fall for such a blase excuse that easily? Kris was going to regret this.

Pure Darkners are sentient. They lead, shadow of dark versus shade of void. Others follow.

Like Ralsei being a Prince.

Or the Costumers leading Troupe.

Kris assented to that. The passion they faked earlier was still bleeding them ragged of any energy or will. God, it felt visceral, the acid boiling in their chest and eeking out a colony of pain that throbbed and stung beneath their ribcage. They were a liar, and they foresaw the ending of this jaunting thing. Dust and blood and guts and death and bullets, and Kris's name on the papers that didn't exist. This blame was 'theirs'. Their voice called for this, and it was believed by all to be theirs, so it had to be theirs, right? Not the other, that menace on the inside, but simply… Kris. Just Kris. They felt like hell admiring Noelle's cloth-clad figure as she turned on them with fright; felt like shit seeing Susie covered in soot and ash glowering at them in shock, unable to even connect the events to them; to see Ralsei incapable of defending them, to see him gasping for words and reaching and reaching for thoughts. It was a push in their heart and a dulcet lull in their mind that swam with this, these things clawing and sequestration spreading, and Kris soon felt each breath come harder and harder.

Their limbs felt too light, like feather and twine bound together like the shackles on a caged bird, and every movement jostled them and sent them railing against the bone-bars of the skull, their ribs, the breastbone, until their insides hurt.

Hurt like hell, like flame and fire licking, and Kris wanted to keel over and collapse with every step toward the catwalk, with every step up the stairs, knowing dozens followed behind them.

What would wait for them over the brim besides death and regret? It made it hard to march forward. Harder to be quiet. But like all things, when Kris had enough, the other made sure they stayed in-line with a shot of cooling, relaxing magic that made them sigh and loosen like a wound-up spring ready to pop.

Calm.

It commanded the puppet-body of Kris and sent them forward with a gentle push.

Breathe.

They listened, and the industrial complex of smoke filtered and stewed like the smell of burnt nuts and grilled onions and corn. Putrid with potency.

You stand before the final obstacle. It all falters before your coursing will. The power of authority fills you.

0-0-0

"Kris, are you absolutely sure about this?" Noelle questioned just before it was time. Kris paused their prattling thoughts of tactics and strategy - they had an approach made with the other's help.

"Yes…" Kris muttered after a stretch. "I'm as sure as I can be about this. We have no choice."

Noelle looked even less elated at that news. She glanced nervously around before swallowing and approaching, resting a hand on their shoulder as they sharpened their vision and posture. As they turned, she drooped and grimaced.

"If… there's no other choice, then…"

Kris sighed, taking her hand and pasting the barest, weakest semblance of a reassuring smile they could even muster with what little energy they had to spare, "It's fine, Noelle. We can do this."

She looked vastly uncomfortable by their gesture of affection, which allowed Kris to simply stop. They disliked it, even with Noelle, despite her being their childhood friend. It wasn't the same anymore; Kris was tainted and their relationship was a husk of its former self.

Noelle hummed in displeasure at their comment, looping her hands together beneath her stained robes. They watched her for a moment remembering before. "Kris… Kris, talk to me…"

"It's fine, Noelle. We just need to focus up, get out of here. You want to see your dad, right?" It was a low blow, and she knew it as well as they did. "And in a few minutes, we'll be homebound. We're gonna get through this, any means necessary, okay? You trust me? I haven't failed you yet, have I?"

Noelle lost her voice and just dumbly stared.

Kris tried to grin like it didn't hurt - like her hesitance didn't stab them in the chest and burn like hell - but they faltered as well as she did.

"No… no you haven't…?" Noelle tried to soothe, likely seeing the hurt on their visage. Her own face was tight and uncomfortable as she stood before them.

Kris sucked their cheeks in. Some blase feeling of woe troubled them, but beneath everything else surrounding them, it was negligible and small. Kris felt it didn't need addressing. They failed her before, but with the other, they could succeed.

But there was something else. First, it was the people. Susie and Ralsei stood plainly in front of the crowd. Susie was glaring bitterly like tasting sour candy with her face clenched sprightly and twisted like a coil, while Ralsei simply nodded as Kris approached and straightened up and watched the crowd with surety and sincerity in his eyes. He was squared off and awaiting Kris, and he made them feel as vulnerable as though someone was throwing eyes all over them like a shower of marbles covered in a mucus film.

Behind him, as though a lieutenant or a knight to a lord, the embossed Costumer hovered and bowed to them, and with it, the other masks.

Clockters ticked, wound up and ready for war with their teapots and canes; the Costumers held daggers and whips with ornate jewels in the handle and stayed quiet like predators; the lone Sharpcrawler partnered with the bird and Chef Phago's membranous body beneath his apron, the three standing oddly as they all comically jammed themself on the Sharpcrawler's back; and Kris doubted once more their potential for victory.

The machine-riven valley stretched beneath the catwalks, gaping like, perhaps, an awaiting hellscape of bleakness, or in wait of their fall, with trepidation and possibly warning, like a Lilliputian who told them suddenly different as to sway their faculties. The reverb of anxiety boughed like falling leaves onto the checkerboard gray-and-white blueness of their skin and ensemble and freed their ambitions for the moment presently, and with no more grandeur, frightening, standing to attention for their surprise arrival. The other swam to them and pushed forth a red petal that blossomed into heavenly angels with mirror-wings, and then showed boots on the ground and humming generators and fatigues with gun straps and magazine pockets. The military-body held grizzled soldiers of bloody war and Kris's meager circus show had innocent peasants contracted to this by fate.

"So, what's the plan? Better not be rush them." Susie grumbled as the main five huddled near the chain link fence ahead of the group.

Kris gave her a blank stare. Susie just growled and shrugged dramatically. Ralsei gave a look that blended beautifully frustration, resolve, tragedy, and anticipation.

"Why do I even fucking ask? Whatever. We're here now, I don't see another way. Fucking Kris. I knew it."

"I'm sure Kris has a plan," Ralsei sang. "If not, I'm sure it wouldn't be too difficult to make them see reason. Lightners were once our patrons, after all."

"Ralsei…" Noelle breathed oddly. Her mottled hair swept back as she drooped and clasped her hands, "…um, these are bad guys. They're not… not our friends, or people who care about us."

Kris shook their head contemptibly. Whoever these Coalition people were, their presence garnered the full brunt of Kris's hatred.

Their lips screwed and they grabbed around their sword, just thinking of the course of events. Projecting this, all that anger and frustration and helplessness, onto something they could possibly change felt like a chilled breeze in the buzzing drear of summer heat.

Honing anger to the subscript of a needle-point weapon similar to tangible apparatuses for operation. To devise palpable motive, it is not asinine.

Kris shook themself to attention and went ahead of the crowd, drawing forth domineering silence. They glanced upward, to the sky, and to the stars. It made them tense up.

The other was one to talk. It seemed to split away from any emotion it could.

Verbatim, emotion is evanescence complete, entropy incarnate, and insolence named. No auger produces sheer holes. Hubris is not accepting this fact. Vied with logic, emotion is powerful, but unstable.

Gazing around, Kris happened to agree. They raised their sword up in the air, a white-blue icicle blasting against the purple sky. They felt rapture, and triumph, and bleeding feelings at the sight of the rapt crowd of Darkners. They didn't blink because they were afraid it would jinx: They just rolled back their shoulders and exuded confidence they didn't have.

"Here's the deal." They started slow, sure of themself. Gruff, gravelly, and with a croaking hint of an accent they decided to ride on. "Enemies have set up around the blast doors to the Astrowall. Between here and there, the enemies have set up barricades and blockers. This is important. We're going to use those to the fullest."

"Yeah, right. Strafe from cover to cover. Guns will fuck a person up quick so make sure to duck," Susie crossed her arms and rocked, "and stay down."

"Across this road, there is a Lightner on top of a building with a sniper. This is no laughing matter," Kris raised their voice, scuttling all humor and reminding of the gravity, which, by all means, would pull and grab like a zealot. "This is what will happen. First, when we hop that bridge, hell will break loose. Get. To cover." Kris enunciated it harshly, severely.

The crowd was beginning to react harder. Some had nervous looks on their faces while others focused on Kris, watched their cracked lips preach.

"I'll handle the sniper, somehow."

"Kris, should I go with you?" Ralsei questioned with a tilted head. "My magic is fully prepared. I can help you restrain them and heal you."

"That'll work. Me, Ralsei; we'll take the sniper. Everyone else, find cover and stay safe until you see the sign-"

"So, what, me and Noelle are the frontline?" Susie tapped her foot impatiently. Scared. "I mean, I can handle it, but are you sure we don't want Noelle and Ralsei healing any wounded?"

It would only slow the tide.

"No," Kris decided to lie, "that's exactly their role. The assault starts once the sniper is gone. Hopefully, I can blow the doors somehow." They nodded sagely, as though it were the plan. They sheathed their sword. "After that, we take down as many as we possibly can. Once we're inside, Noelle…"

She smiled and cut them off. "I freeze the entrance, seal them off from the Astrowall."

Kris agreed with satisfaction. "After that, we're home free. More on the intricacies. Everyone should split into squads. Take care of your own, above all else." They pointed out four random Darkners. "You, you, you, and you; make squads. You're leaders. Congrats on the promotions."

The sarcasm didn't transfer.

"Hey, we's leaders, now!"

"I suppose we are now the powers."

"Thanks, commander!"

Kris sighed and shook their head; hopeless. These Darkners were hopeless and all going to die at the hands of the Coalition. It was shameful to think about and made Kris feel their heartbeat, because they saw forward - death, dust, everything - and it was inevitable. Like all things in life, the universe just decided to be a bird and shit on them constantly. Next, their sword would slip out of their hands or whatever gun they picked up would jam. It was just predictable.

But they figured that this was their best chance. Sedentary things wouldn't work; they had to take a risk. Any risk. The best risk, the worst risk. Gamble, bluff, cheat, lie, steal. How many times did this actually matter - did Kris's decision actually matter, outside of their own warped morals. They supposed this was the person they were, deep down, and reflected that with a salty, strained smile that felt like squeezing their lips onto a voice-distorting mouthpiece. They weren't this Kris. They were the sediment. But they couldn't be for today, and part of them was glad, and part of them was scared, mad, which, like all emotions, through all stuttering of their being, produced the sense of liberosis.

Kris gestured for their advisors, their only friends, to gather close. Their gimlet look and frown gave rise to the importance of a further gesture; lean in, they said. 'I need to whisper.'

"We need to make it to the wall, at all costs. We can't be stopped here. Always evaluate if helping someone could get you hurt, because we need all four of us to win."

Kris basked in the glows of reverence from the crowd, and was smothered by the appalled expressions on their friends faces.

"I'm serious. The Roaring can't wait any longer. It's the importance of the world against a few dozen," Kris sighed, harrowed, as their coat fluttered, and they placed a hand on Noelle's shoulder, "victory at all costs is warranted."

"That's harsh, Kris. You're really… something." Susie lowered herself. She wanted to argue. Bitterness spread when she realized she would lose.

Ralsei seemed… rather unbothered by them. "That's unfortunate, Kris. I'm glad you have our priorities straight, though. Let's do our best for these Darkners, okay?"

"Yeah, let's do that. If we can win fast enough, we might be able to stop any injuries or deaths." The lie came easily as Kris felt their own body relax. Trust was reassuring.

He blinked at them, with a soft smile gracing his soft, furry features. "Thank you, Kris."

Noelle looked less enthusiastic than the others. Fear expulsed from her eyes, though, and they saw her gather herself with a jolt and a shuffle. Her mouth was feline and tight.

"…we got this, Kris. Just… have to be strong, now." She gave them a determined nod. "Should I freeze these enemies?"

Kris barely minded the extreme whiplash - Noelle must have clicked into the mode, maybe the other made her - and pretended to debate.

"These are real Lightners. Hopefully, freezing them isn't lethal. If it is…" Kris parodied remorsefulness with their eyes. "…we'll deal with it later."

Turning, they cleared their throat.

"It's time, Lightners and Darkners. We are about to cross the precipice into a war zone. Ready yourselves, check your weapons, run through your ideas. Remember - Ralsei and I will deal with the sniper first before we get too far in. In case we aren't fast enough…"

Kris weighed their options. Susie was, by far, the most logical choice for an interim leader. Noelle would falter, and she wasn't as naturally charismatic or observant as Susie showed herself to be. But there was a problem.

Susie was hard to control. If they made a mistake, Susie could ruin the entire advance. Ralsei was their first choice, but after much internal debate, they turned to the other for confirmation.

Noelle is a dutiful puppet. The operator is capable of securing communication.

"Noelle is the interim leader. Listen to her." She gaped in shock, brows raising as she watched Kris in utter awe. "Listen to her." Their matter-of-fact tone beset the equal expressions of understanding, outrage, and confusion from their friends.

"Sorry, Susie, but this makes sense." Ralsei nodded, like he knew all along what was right and wrong.

"W-What, me? Kris, I know some useful spells and some- some small things, but… I don't think I can… do that…" Noelle bowed her head, resigned to defeat.

"Yeah, like, I'm right here. Kris, come on, freak. Are you still mad at me? I'm pissed at you, too, but seriously?" Susie remarked, sweeping widely with a gesture that pointed out the trash, sharp edges, and empty crevices, as though every detail proved her point.

"It's final, Susie. Noelle should take charge."

Ralsei simply nodded again, happily agreeing with their point blindly. It made it easier to have him nearby, because not even Susie had the heart to argue with the Prince in front of the others, instead bumbling and scoffing, biting her tongue acrimoniously. Without any grandeur, she assented. Kris thought that maybe, with, however begrudgingly, her consent, they could explain properly what it meant and why to assuage her wrath. But the other commanded them forward, whirring impatiently as the scent of coffee-gasoline wafted toward them like the nauseating exhaust of a school bus.

It is insignificant. Proceed.

"Hey," Susie caught their arm, "we're talking about some things later. Whenever we get a minute, we're talking, Kris."

Kris simply nodded with a politeness that betrayed their indignation.

"Kris…" Susie warned. "Kris, I'm serious. You better start talking."

She released them.

Kris walked forward, eliciting murmurs.

The uncertainty permeated through everyone but Ralsei, who stayed glued to them like a rubber glove. The loyal Darkner looked expressly pleased with himself; Kris felt uncomfortable with the lighthearted smirk on his face. First thing first, Kris gestured for the crowd to stay behind as they climbed toward the floor overlooking part of the bridge. The other gave a scan and reported nominally the same dreary landscape of clouds and storms brewing. They relaxed, hunkered down next to a wall and breathed in, crouching, coat furling around their straining legs as they gazed out over the bridge. Just below the drop, the area opened into a small fountain in the middle, decorative and likely added onto for the Astrowall afterward. A few metal barricades were set up by the Coalition, with rungs and symbols and insignias, and were wide enough for any Darkner, par the Sharpcrawler, to hide behind. It was a domestic sight, otherwise, with buildings lining either side of the street with canvas awnings and glass windows, barred doors and jovial signs. And then, further along, it opened onto the empty, barren bridge like a protruding knife serrated by surfaces and reinforcements for the bridge. Kris almost grinned as they hawkishly centered on the dull orange flitting of a cigar steaming from across the way, as though the casual zeal, which, by the way, was erroneous in immediate hindsight, divulged them a marked chance of victory. At no cost.

Splitting them from the sniper's perch was a decent stretch of concrete road colored gray and black by numerous awnings and the light of the starlit sky. An apparition of distance, distorted and elongated by the thoughts of bullets that whizzed.

"Ralsei, I just want to say thank you." They lowered back down under the wall, with a placid, lazy upturn of their lips.

"It's no problem, Kris! I'm happy to help. I think everyone will benefit from us pacifying the sniper." He glimmered like a lamp. "I think you're doing great, Kris."

"…thanks." Kris brooded. They blurted, "but that's not what I meant."

Now, he looked surprised. His smile dimmed. His wide eyes probed them as he puckered his mouth. But still, he never left behind that trust. If anything, he found something different in it. He just tilted his head forward and squinted more at them, almost visible deviltry in his eyes.

"Oh, Kris," he chuckled deeply, "I'm glad to hear that."

Krsi almost shivered as he placed a soft paw on their thigh, but they merely figured he misjudged their clinging lab coat. The presence of his touch never quite left them until he simply inhaled sweetly and turned away from the bridge.

Focus.

But-

Focus.

Fine. But was it really that urgent? Wasn't it just hopeless? Didn't the other tell them to enjoy things like this?

Circumstance change, omittance of details.

Then couldn't they just… use this moment, somehow. Some way to exploit it?

It's possible.

It is possible.

Especially since their relationship with Susie and Noelle was strained. They needed this.

Reasonable. The operator will perform further reconnaissance. The vessel will stay attentive.

Their limbs moved, crossing one over and playing frisbee with their shield. The other clawed the frosty blade from the loop, resting it over the shield and turning, laying them back against the wall, like Ralsei, and holding the mess, the sword and shield, as though it were a buckle, a collar of sorts, to, of course, Kris. Held them down, without fail. They just sighed as the winding sounds of the other departed through the listless air and left them alone, in all aspects but literally, with Ralsei.

And they enjoyed the peaceful silence for as long as it lasted.

0-0-0

Duck.

They had jumped from the wall, landing smoothly - with some help from the other - and immediately crouched low behind one of the Coalition's barricades. The impact against their back from hurling themself was only second to the increasing worry of watching everyone hop over the side of the hill, down the few feet to the bricks and pavement, and maneuver to whatever safety they could find. Kris, Ralsei, Susie, and Noelle were the first four: Kris held their shield up and hoped it would help. One second, two. Nothing. Kris felt around the barricade and made sure they had a good hold on it. Once the bullets started flying, they had seconds. The other identified patterns and reactions, all from the forward guards, and carefully planned the entry time. Little things. They couldn't see the wafting smoke anymore and it unnerved them.

Their friends stayed low and hoofed it toward the other barricades, and then the Costumers floated soundlessly over the side of the brick hallway underneath the stars.

Estimation: three seconds. Run.

Kris gestured to Ralsei, gave him a frenetic nod that screamed - I know what I'm doing - and bolted upright, throwing caution to the wind.

It was probably two seconds, and Kris barely started to run when the other processed the excitement swelling in the checkpoint camp.

"Hostiles," called the first guard, standing behind a mobile cover. They pressed their gloved hand against their chest and fiddled with the box.

A rumble of static. "Ferals?"

"No, Charlie targets. We located Charlie targets, repeat, we have located Charlie targets."

"Good. Permission to use non-lethal force granted. Over."

"Sir, there are non-feral natives with them."

"Fire at will."

The bullet zagged close to Kris, the other digging their heels in for a screeching halt. Down the way, the two guards leaned over with their rifles and began to pocket precise shots at them.

It all resounded through the air as Kris and Ralsei threw themselves in a hazy sprint across the way.

The impact always came before the sound.

Three feet ahead, it shot just below Kris's foot. It dug beneath the concrete just before an almighty, deafening noise came from over the bridge.

They could see nothing but the alcove between buildings, a stone wall broken only once by an alleyway with a ladder.

Heart pounding, they had to soldier on. The other fed them information. It didn't mean to, Kris could see that, noticing the state of emergency it was in, calculating a great mass of everything with the internal sound of a jet plane.

The main group managed to get down safely, minus a stray bullet that caught itself within the armor of the spider beast that merely plinked off.

The soldiers gathered en-masse at the forefront of the camp, forming a shoddy line behind metal barriers and placing small, accurate shots that formed a drizzle of metal rain.

The other planted their feet, raised their shield, and pulled Ralsei roughly out of the way of a bullet. He tumbled, and Kris yanked him up, and there was only a hair's length away from their destination.

Okay. Okay, they could do this. They just had to settle down, breathe, and trust the system. The other managed them easily; it sent them into a dive, landing them behind one of the last bastions of safety.

They almost tripped Ralsei to get him down with them.

It was hectic. Every so often, a bullet soared over. Darkners bellowed and returned fire as safely as possible. Steaming, sizzling splashes of tea; jagged daggers; needles; flashes of magic that howled in the air. Whistling like wind, Kris could almost feel bullets digging into and ricocheting off their cover.

"Charlie targets attacking Dawnbreaker point, over."

"Cadaver 0-1 reporting. Holding sight on Charlie targets, now."

"Cadaver 0-1, hold a line on them."

"Easygoing."

Kris held their breath. They could almost see the smoke and could almost smell the cigar. The sniper - Cadaver - flicked it over the side of the building, and it landed a few feet away from Kris, still lit and stuck with an amber glow that betrayed how little was left. Kris then noticed the others; at least three of them, all little stubs of brown sheet paper and messy tobacco with a sheer face of ash.

Kris waited, and waited, for the next instruction. Five seconds, a dozen bullets digging into the surfaces. Darkners grasped with fear, screaming, realizing their plight.

Go.

Kris hopped up with their shield brandished to the soldiers. Instantly, measured calls of targeting. A bullet struck their shield, flinching them with a lightning-force jolt. Adrenaline hit them again, pulsing, and Kris felt horror, hopelessness. Guns. They were facing guns. The scent of sweat and gunpowder mixed with the cold, making the trek to safety feel way longer. A stretching hallway. Their feet felt aflame, throbbing pain, their heartbeat on the bones in their ankles. Shoulder crushed uncomfortably against their shield. Reports of weapons, banging firecrackers that split open their numbing ears.

They imagined what they felt when they dove into the notch on the alleyway and buildings to be exactly what a mouse felt when it ducked into brush.

Ralsei pressed close to them, the both of them huddling against each other, against the wall, and for once, Kris wasn't concerned in the slightest by his closeness.

There was a sizable dent in their shield, around the middle of the crest, decently larger than their fingertip. It was hard to push their gauntlet inside the hole. It looked like it was shimmering back and forth, and Kris could just feel morbid curiosity mix with shocked terror. They clenched their hands, blinking their eyes as their face strained. Did their eyebrows get rearranged higher by the scuffle like one of those blocky Darkners? They struggled to let in air. Clench, clench. Kris imagined their sword melting in the heat, joyfully picturing the taste of water in their suddenly dry mouth.

"Kris? You're shaking." Ralsei said.

Calm.

They instantly halted. The fog over their mind cleared, if only slightly, and a triumphant victory settled on them. Halfway there. Halfway there. Just up and over, dispatch the sniper. Hopefully, the other knew how to use it.

What a radical idea that possessed them as they nodded to the runged ladder riveted into the building. They gestured to Ralsei to go first, noting with supreme authority the fact that the sniper would clearly be focused on the Darkners.

They needed to be clinical.

Conflict with Lightners entails different methods than that of Darkners.

Kris wasn't letting go of their shield today. Not when it was the only shred of protection against the barrage that would incinerate their flesh, rend from them meat and sinew, and roast their bits of skin with hot, hot bullets. They shivered as they stepped onto the first rung of the ladder. There was a shouting match between their heart and head. Both cried when it was clear neither could win against the other, or the other. Blood pooled in their limbs but the woven beast commanded dominance. They ascended. The cool came in as they watched Ralsei throw himself over the brim. Appreciation drowned Kris with it. Fear would have paralyzed them, jabbed them. Made their shoulders seize like stone.

When they peeked over the brim, it was pretty clear they were safe for a moment. The echo of nearby gunshots prattled and banged, and Kris flinched. Like the movement would scrub away their mortality.

They had some clearance.

A wide slate of grated concrete awaited them, empty, gray and somber compared to the flash of the surrogate street lamps that illuminated the far end of the street below. What it lacked in substance, it made up for in suspense. Just on the other side, like a repeating joke, there was another incline. They could see another past that, presumably just before a dip in the roofs. They clambered up some pipes acting as old stools to the two; the pipes were bolted to the building and sturdy despite their apparent age marked in scratches. Hard, rocky silt somehow poked through their gauntlets, the roof inviting itself inside their head. More and more, sandier and sandier, and then someone waiting for them. Someone they had to fight. Or worse.

Or worse. Or worse. Or worse. Kris felt the shadow of the idea before it was realized in their head, and shrunk when it was, because it crushed them, devastated their supposed experience, left them gasping for breath like a lifeline to remind them that they still existed at the end. The butterflies on the inside (they hated the term, hated the idea of anything but their own innards being there) insisted on escape and tore and clawed more than Kris ever did. Strings pulled and tugged and ripped away at them to stop their bouncing from making them slip, but Kris had enough experience with terror to meet it, however daunted they were; the other was scarier. The other was scarier. The other was scarier. The jaws snapping, the blood leaked in their head, eyes popped, body mangled. The other was so much more than bullets or guns. But Kris couldn't help it; fear at the face of death. It was different with Boyles, or the Lobotomy, because they knew how to handle that. A military squad was like a unicorn to their garden gnome, as not well-timed as the thought was.

They slid up onto the next hump. Ralsei followed silently, hands waiting at his sides in a much different posture. His readiness and their fear. Kris felt itchy all of the sudden. Their coat was sweaty and coldness rammed their skin like a billowing, freezing ice cube.

Kris wanted to talk, to blabber, to roar and shout. The other sewed their mouth closed immediately, in prediction even. It watched, held the cards, played the fool to a game it knew too well.

Lackadaisical, the other did. It gave Kris a yowl and a half-sloughing bark, sending them up the last incline like their life depended on it.

Shot, after shot, after shot. Kris inhaled the crude smoke and the acrid stench of refined tobacco as they finally came to the midpoint.

And 'Cadaver' was waiting there, dressed in uniform fatigues, prone as they leaned into their scope. Kris would wager the monster was their size and weight. Cadaver looked smaller than the others, oddly enough. Ralsei and Kris would be an even match for them; they had to disarm the soldier.

They held their breath to calm themself, and then let it out as silently as possible. The sniper was so unbelievably still, Kris almost rationalized that it was a decoy planted to kill them, but the other would warn them.

Kris had an idea to go for their sword while they could but it would draw the attention of the soldier prematurely. Instead, they ran through a few options, as detached as possible. One, the easiest, would be to just jump the sniper with their current kit. Problems arose when factoring in the long, sleek sniper the monster had pointed at the crowd of Darkners behind the barriers. That, and the decent fall from the rooftop Kris or Ralsei could suffer if they failed. Two, quick and clean. Kris would sneak up, whack the monster on the head until it stopped moving. Once again, getting caught. Kris slowed their roll when they noticed the pistol strapped to the monster's leg. Three, get that damn pistol. It would solve many things; Kris could end it there. Something about taking this monster's life was difficult to swallow. Their stomach was adamant about it. Four… choke it out until Ralsei had success disarming it. Non-lethal opened up so many great routes for Kris not to hate themself more. But ultimately, it was up to the other-

Thunder struck in their ears. The earth-shattering crack of a cannon and blinding muzzle flash from the sniper pretty much ended their plans there.

Kris sprinted forward as the sniper grappled with a lever on the side of their weapon.

"Fucking idiots." Cadaver quipped. "I'm a professional-"

Kris wove their arms toward the monster. They quickly realized it wouldn't be easy to choke them, and Cadaver seemed to prick up and recognize something amiss as Kris raised their arm and sent it sailing down, the point of their shield almost stabbing into Cadaver's head. The monster dodged at the last second and the black abyss of a barrel was soon gaping toward them and chasing them. Ringing silence came after as their ears exploded with pain and shaking agony. They faltered and clapped their hands to their ears, an ephemeral droning forcing their eyes closed as waves of pressure hammered like a blow to the gut in their skull. They shook as their fears were realized in a different manner altogether.

The other fixed them that instant, sound filtering through a funnel; the metallic cocking of the rifle's lever and the casing hitting the roof opened their eyes. It was blurry and disorienting. Kris dashed out of the way before Cadaver could line up another shot.

"Son of a humie bitch!" Cadaver snarled and jerked to line up the end of his barrel to the vague center of the human in front of him. He almost didn't recognize the disgusting piece of garbage behind their choked skin; that lab coat reminded him of his boss, and more than once he began to kick at them when they crowded him with their stupid shield. He couldn't get a good angle, the scuffle was vicious. Metal knocked against metal in a symphony of anger and exasperation. "Fucking-" Cadaver burst like dynamite, sliding like a slippery beast forward and twisting.

Kris felt the monster's heel dig right into their unprotected groin. The throbbing, numb misery was almost immediate as they howled and kneeled, liquid acid pumping through their valves as they began to tire with the effort. The monster just stared at them from a visor of white skin around dark black eyes, contorting to stand. Kris grabbed at the monster's legs.

Cadaver knew instantly he was on the losing side of the fight, just by seeing the stumble of the human. It was desperate. It had a friend waiting to jump in. He was down two shots. His pistol was locked beneath the human's grip. The tackle gave way to a barbarian warcry from the soldier, soft scent of smoke mixing with putrid sweat and cold from the human.

"Hello, Kris!" The soldier remarked as they stabbed their elbow into Kris's neck. The fear was penultimate enough to shake them. The grappling went on and on, exhausting as Kris tried to rend the weapon from the monster like opening a sore stitch, fast and easy. They only succeeded in messing up.

Cadaver wasn't an elitist when it came to shooting humans. Anywhere would do. When he noticed the sights lined up to their leg, he jerked that trigger so hard his hand hissed.

Kris doubled over in pain the second it happened. Bone luckily missed, but there was a solid second where they couldn't see anything but black specks or taste anything but blood. A rent in their attire had Kris reeling. It was over; the fight was over; Kris would be killed any second now. Would they die? Stay dead? No. Victory at all costs. And they still had a sword.

"Fuck you!" Kris blurted. Ice cold steel riveted against alloy. A gun against a sword. Cadaver appreciated the contrast. Human, monster, sword, gun. There was rage in their eyes, now, wild and frenzied as they scrambled to angle their sword. The wind of the city rampaged around them. Cadaver looked up with wide eyes, grinning underneath his mask. There's the demon he knew they were. Too bad they were at an odd angle, otherwise they might have stood a chance. It wasn't easy - it was simple, not easy - to sweep them to the side. Bashing his heel against theirs, feeling them split and whine underneath his wrenching attack. His rifle pricked against where their hair would have been. He imagined the face of their mother when she would hear about this.

No.

Their hands wrapped around the end of the barrel and clawed it aside. The soldier pressed the trigger but no bullet came hurtling out anyway. They sucked in an acidic gulp of smoke and listened to the monster's derisive laughter. Where was Ralsei?

Cadaver held his magazine and wracked the lever, sinking another pointed round into the rail of his rifle. He had almost won, and it filled him with devilish glee. Another notch on his wrist-mounted blade. But that damned human refused to let him force an angle. Their grip was strong. Unyielding. Cadaver kicked at them, their body flying up as he unbalanced them and yanked.

Kris felt aching pain, throes of it. Their muscles strained so hard to keep the barrel of the sniper away, and between their wound and their hands, their stomach swam with vomit they couldn't afford to let loose, so they choked it down. Energy drained from them, sapped like they were injecting it into the air around them, and heat warmed their armor. They screamed and cried in sorrow and rage.

"Let go you stupid fucking human!" The monster continued to fight for the weapon.

"Ralsei!" Kris pleaded. "Ralsei, do something!"

"Come any closer and I'll kill you too, Darkner."

Though the monster's voice was muffled by his balaclava, Kris could still hear the monster's frustration. A rollercoaster of emotions that plummeted and ripped upward until Kris felt their muscles weaken. A feral snarl from the monster impaled them with deep fear, shocking them still for but a moment. Cadaver took their weapon back with a victorious flourish, pushing it flush to Kris's breathing space and enjoying the triumph for a spell. Kris, defeated and powerless, feeling betrayed and recklessly tired, merely clutched their hand, wrapped with cloth, to their bleeding wound. Lightning, debilitating and paralysing, sent them screaming through gritted teeth.

The monster inhaled the ambrosial scent of dust, blood, industrial steam, and thought of the unlively smell of formaldehyde. The grating sound of metal against an alcove envelope of copper and iron slapped together primally with heat and stabbed with nails, a wristblade. Another mark on the body, totaling over two dozen.

"Goodnight, freak."

Fire cascaded in a saving grace, not onto Kris, nor Cadaver, but just around the trigger well of the rifle, heating that instant, enough that the monster dropped the rifle, enough that the air sizzled, and enough that Kris felt contrasting blasts of hot and cold.

The rifle clattered to the ground as the monster flinched back, grabbing their bubbling fingers and hissing. Kris glanced up in confusion.

Opportunity.

Kris felt their body launch forward, jamming their frozen Rapier toward the monster in a smooth, swift motion that cut the air in two clean pieces. The monster, nursing their hand, barely reacted in time, blocking the thrust with a sizable sheet of armor strapped to their forearm. The tip dug deep into the border and trim, making another notch in it like the others, more like a ravine than a typical stitch.

The monster jerked it to the side, and with a clear, concise whiik, a shovel-like blade popped from their forearm, half-serrated edge slicing toward Kris. They ducked under it, crippled leg almost collapsing under them as they expanded their pain toward their body, letting free a guttural roar.

The second swing of the monster's body yielded the pistol, and Kris jammed their shield against it.

It was sleek and aerodynamic, and Kris harnessed the foci of all their strength into bashing it away. Seconds later, they fought.

The shield clattered next to the rifle, and their sword opposite it. It was just them, the monster ahead, and the gun.

And in a surprising twist of fate, like their hands knew what to do, how to do it, and their body forgot the damages it had, Kris managed to wrestle the pistol from the monster, pointing it at them.

Excellence. Victory. They will be yours today. Complete the cycle.

The monster held up their hands. "Wait a damn second, I'm just following orders."

Information is not pertinent. There is urgency to battle. Handle the threat and proceed.

Kris grimaced as they went to squeeze the trigger.

It was harder. Harder than any Darkner, harder still. Kris couldn't kill a monster. Kris couldn't kill monsters, Kris grew up with monsters. It would be like killing Toriel, or killing Noelle. They couldn't kill Toriel or Noelle. They loved the two. They just couldn't see it, and the monster in front of them was like those two, they had to be. The soldier was just doing what he thought was right and Kris couldn't even fathom themself ever being in the right; they knew they were wrong. Kris was evil and the soldier was trying to stop them from killing everyone. But there was still the Roaring. The cataclysm. If Kris failed here, what then? Death, for all, for the town, for the soldiers not squeamishly shaking in front of them? But there had to be another way, right?

Do it.

They couldn't. Just plain couldn't. Their body didn't let them. Their hands trembled and their heart pumped, and their breathing deepened to match the fluttering emotions of regret, sorrow, and happiness they felt, all at once. And they couldn't.

Punishment is suffered.

The other took control of them, then, going to squeeze the trigger. Kris couldn't stand it. The impatience, the ambivalence. The other would so easily kill someone in front of them, when they didn't want it. Kris just twitched, just one twitch. The other growled as the bullet and the kick slammed backward but it only grazed the monster. Cadaver looked confused after a moment of mortal terror, wincing away in a show of humanity, ironically. Kris felt their heart twist and their guts clench, and waves and waves of suffering wash over them as the tides rose. The monster was a person. Kris was not a person. Kris was a failure. But they felt something different, for once. It was pathetic, and childish, and probably more than a little self-destructive, but they… enjoyed the feeling of satisfaction, of strength, that came from ignoring the other. The beast creaked and bent and tried again and again to squeeze the trigger, but Kris couldn't let it. Wouldn't let it. It was so, so stupid of them.

Another shot eventually did go off, one of dozens in the firing zone of soldiers and Darkners beneath the towering bastion of the Astrowall and the colorful night sky. By then, the pistol was far, far from harming the monster, and the bullet whizzed straight through the gaps in the railing behind the monster. Kris fumbled for it as Cadaver trapped their wrist in a vicious hold, grappling them roughly until he ran them toward the edge, Kris blinking their eyes and waking up just as he smashed their head against the metal. Once, the pain in their nose and blood felt hot and wet. The second time reminded them of the dull pain in their legs, no longer quieted by adrenaline. It also hailed the release of the pistol, which Cadaver reached for, fortunately falling from both of their grips to the area below the rooftop. The throbbing of their nose and the writhing glimmers of sparkle-white started to take hold of Kris.

Not a second lasted before the momentum swung against Kris again, their vision turning black, their body slumping, as the monster twisted and popped, startling them with a roundhouse to the face at an odd angle. They didn't have energy left to fight the monster.

A tornado of blows rewarded them; their face cracked against hard knuckles, even through gloves; their ribs met elbows and knees; their head swam with an urgent cry as a large blade jabbed through their abdomen and straight into their organs, cutting down to yellow fat and blood that began to stain their white coat red; and through it all, their voice caught like a whispered murmur.

Every yell and bellow intoned rage, proud fury, and was exemplified in every strike, every impact against their face that cut blood from their skin, every obliterating and life-draining slash or stab from the monster dragging out every last hope they had and splattering it all over fatigues, gloves, metal, concrete and asphalt; Kris tried to prop themself up against the railing. Swirls and stars of blinding radiance cut through everything, and Kris held onto the rail like a lifeline. The monster just kept fighting, even though he was panting and soaking in sweat through his mask, and Kris was much, much worse off. They tried to stand to attempt to survive but their debilitated leg hit them with obliterating pain, stopping that, sending them, defeated and abused, wounded and whimpering like a kicked dog, to the back of the rails. They tried to lean over but no matter how far they ran, the monster managed to bruise them: A huge haymaker, they were open, seemed to split their nose in two. Another one broke their jaw and sent their head into two directions.

They were careening from life, seeing blood stain their white coat and blacken their dark bodysuit, and dizziness swarmed them and sunk teeth with every hit. Only flashes of the world broke the illusion that: Kris was dying.

"Fucking man-swine!" Cadaver pressed inward, enjoying with a tired, yet sadistic euphoria how his blade continued to net mesh after mesh of tissue. They were a mess and he was all for it.

"Fucking slut! Fucking whore!"

"Ra… Ral.." Their voice was broken.

"YOU THINK THEY CAN HEAR YOU SCREAMING? SARGEANT HATCHEN HAS ANOTHER ONE, BOYS!"

They saw Ralsei, frozen and looking like death, hung over his own feet like a broken robot as his mouth gaped. It was a special hell to see it; his world image shattered. It was shock and then horror that kept him closed down.

"NUMBER ONE HUMAN KILLER!" Hatchen - 'Cadaver 0-1' - painted a canvas of holes and tears in their stupid labcoat, playing a game of Jenga; seeing which mortal wound would make them collapse first.

" ..RaLs…"

"THE FELON, THE ASSASSIN, THE GODDAMN CONSCRIPT! I'M THE FUCKING BEST. I'M TWENTY-SEVEN, NOTHING, COCKSUCKERS!"

Kris's eyes began to flutter upward, under their eyelashes, and their broken, mangled body began to start shutting down. The other was dead quiet; nothing it did could help this, Kris wouldn't let it, their body was too far gone. Death wasn't even on their mind, just the jutting, unstoppable agony as the monster mauled them like a jaguar.

"FUCK YOU, KRIS. FUCK YOUR MOM, FUCK YOUR BROTHER, FUCK NOELLE, FUCK SUSIE. HUMAN LOVING SCUM DESERVES DEATH JUST AS MUCH." Maniacal laughter, each syllable ringing louder than any gunshots. They could see Ralsei crack and reek of fear until his gaze was dead-set on Cadaver. "AFTER YOU, IT'S THOSE DAMN DARKNERS. SEND THEM MY REGARDS IN HELL, KRIS, TELL THEM THE BEST, TELL THEM HATCHEN, TELL THEM 'HE SENT US TO WHERE WE FUCKING BELONG IN THE DEEPEST… DEEPEST PITS OF FUCKING HELL,' AND TELL THEM HOW MUCH HE ENJOYED DOING IT! TELL THEM, KRIS!"

"FILTHY…" He retracted his blade. Kris would die soon anyway.

"HUMAN…!" Kris felt the world slipping quickly, and their own SOUL pulsed once more before death: they failed so easily. It was one sniper. One sniper. His monologue was white noise to them. They continued to call for Ralsei, to tell him, to get him to do what they said.

"…R… Ra… Ral…"

"GARBAGE!"

Kris's muscles failed to hold them up, and seeing this, Hatchen, not ready to give it up yet, yanked them up by their coat and slammed them against the railing.

Red flew in droplets of blood, the world spun, Kris fell forward even through his attacks, and he didn't even bother holding them up as they crashed to the rooftop, the meteor of meat and juice wrapped with bleeding skin almost dusted and erased from the ground alone. He just resorted to kicking them, over and over, ribs busting, their skull stomped on, their life dimming from their dead, red eyes. It felt like continuous Rude Busters from Susie; horrible, grueling, and Kris was halfway gone from it all anyway. Ironic enough, the kicks were the only thing grounding Kris to life: jolting their brain.

Both of them were exhausted. Cadaver's onslaught of demonic violence slowed as he cackled in pure darkness, ripping his mask off and slamming it down toward Kris. They could only see pale skin and long, black hair curling around a rather human-like face.

"AND AFTER THIS… THIS .. I'M…" he was slouched and grinning, though his face openly frowned in exertion, and he swayed, shoulders peaked like mountains.

"Every last mage… every last human…

All of you sons of BITCHES…

I will. Not rest. Until every… single… one…

Every last man. Woman. Child.

Is dead and rotting."

The soldier raised his leg and his boot, shaking, trembling and shook, but the lethal bloodlust in face never faltered. He decided to reach down for their sword, their own weapon, in purposeful irony, and hefted it like it were an air conditioning unit.

"Ahahahahahaha!"

Cadaver looped it under their neck, pressing it against their tender throat. The cold stung them and tore them back to soberness, and they desperately wheedled for a grip on the blade.

"Ahahahaha… ahahahaha!"

Ralsei clasped his hands over his mouth.

The soldier continued to build in laughter, absolutely merciless as he stomped one heavy, dead-weight leg into Kris's spine.

"AHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

This was an execution; Kris felt it, the other might have confirmed it if it wasn't solemnly watching them die. The end of the world closed on them blissfully instead of painfully, lack of oxygen short-circuiting their brain, letting it all wash away until… Kris couldn't let it happen.

"… wh… .. y..?"

The ka-runch of his boot against their spine served as a subtle hint: He hated them. Hated their species. He hated them so much, and they couldn't bear to hear their own heart beat. They couldn't stand it. He kept laughing, like it was a joke, and the feeling of being an ant kept them from even thinking of it.

"..Ral… sei…" He finally glanced down at the raw chicken blend that was Kris. "..run…"

The soldier finally hissed out a tea-kettle breath and let go of their sword, letting it fall under their chin and warm their cheek with the blade.

He wiped his face of their blood, smearing it like lotion over his dry skin and chapped lips, blazing a hole in their shattered head.

They could only afford one last move, and gazed up at their companion, such a lovely sight in their growing trauma. He was graced with a grave expression they couldn't describe as anything short of wrecked, and mentally called for him to turn around and walk away. He could survive. The Asylum could still be standing. They would find a way. Detter would save them, and Kris could die knowing their friends were safe. Their body twisted and churned, their jaw not actually broken but drifting indiscernibly, and their swelling cheeks leaked indiscriminately onto the cold stone of the crater. Blood came from their mouth in weak coughs. Gross mucus followed in globs until Kris was threatened with choking.

"I need to finish them off properly."

Cadaver caught his second wind. Reminded himself with a shivering shake that he was part of a ritual, had a method, and couldn't afford to lose another precious notch. He glanced around for something.

"I need my sniper.

And then I'll kill them. I'll kill Kris, ahah."

Kris must have imagined it.

Ralsei's face morphed so funnily in their dying stupor. Disgust and ugliness and nightmare, like watching a cat rip open a family of mice, wan on his shadowed and hidden face, slowly melted away. First, they could see his own self reflected in his cowering stance. With the soldier's words, he went into alarm. He shackled his paws lower on his breastbone. He was wild-eyed, and tensed, and strung between what Kris needed and what they wanted him to do. Kris blinked - so tired - and there was a day and night change when they wrenched their sticky, glued eyelid open. The monster above just barely managed to step off them before Ralsei glowered with a snarl. Kris wanted to scream. Ralsei stalked forward, almost at leisure, and gutted out a horrid, apprehensive sneer that motioned him into action. They never saw him move so fast, so sharply, fire dashed for claw and peaceful nature distorted by pained, incensed revenge.

And Kris could only watch and hope. He rushed the soldier, unprecedented. Cadaver seemed to have forgotten him, the human-like monster's reflexes half as dead as Kris. He lagged behind while Ralsei bounded forward, pouncing upward and clawing every digit across the soldier's exposed face, a perfect line, then a jagged line, scattering a puff of dust ahead. But Ralsei wasn't thinking, it was blind rage, and the soldier knocked him to his ass before the Prince could even do anything significant.

The soldier didn't hesitate, kicking at Ralsei until the Prince fell to his knees and elbows, then continued. Kris reached out with a choked sound. They called for him. Leave. Leave. Fight back. Please, anything, don't just die, don't just follow Kris, think for yourself.

He cannot.

The other replied to them, then snapped jaws shut like it said something out of turn. Kris watched. They could do nothing else. Ralsei bled dust. What could even possess the soldier - the demon - to such lengths eluded Kris, and in their fervor, they couldn't even breathe correctly, let alone dissect motives.

The demon battered and drilled the Prince, even with sloppy, languished movements that betrayed the elated monster's ferocity dwindling. Every punch was a chore, to bend down and hit, and every kick, almost tripping the monster. Kris supposed a clear-minded version of them would have realized what came next.

Whiiiiiiiik, slower this time. Cadaver wanted to enjoy it, or maybe Kris's blood was drying on the mechanisms.

No.

No, no way in hell.

Not him. Kris couldn't see it. It would break them. There was frantic energy in their limbs, despite no blood to fill them, and Kris was laying in a growing puddle of ooze. There were so many thoughts crossing their mind; the sword, just stand and stab; the gun - easier to use, harder to lift, harder to aim. It was all too much to think about, too little time. Cadaver hung over Ralsei like a cloud of murderous ravens, muttering something profane and foul underneath his labored breath. Their clothes were heavier than they were, or so it felt, and just propping themself up felt like a dozen cinderblocks rested on them. They failed. But they tried again. They failed, and again, and again, until they gritted their teeth and growled, some bitter taste of atrocious wrath swishing through them. They couldn't let themself fall. They told themself the importance of getting up. Laying down and dying was easier. But it wasn't justice. Ralsei deserved better, and Kris deserved less. At least, they could try.

They lifted up to one knee. Cadaver was grinning, face out of sight. They could smell his glee. It was sour and rotten, mixed with the iron of struggle and the sweat of fighting. One knee and then two. They banked on their knees, limp leg dragging against the ground. Every step felt like hell had come up and ripped them apart. Legs, flanks, head, chest, bones, bones, bones, bones. It. Was. Nothing. The other hurt more. The other was scarier than Cadaver.

Kris told themself that, the chant growing. Kris was scarier than Cadaver. They were stronger. He was nothing but a sniper because he almost lost to a kid with a shield and a sword they lost instantly. Kris was a kid in a world of monsters, Darkners, and frightening gods, and they still beat Cadaver. He was weaker. Kris was strong. Why?

… because they got up again.

"...hey," Cadaver paused, then turned.

Their metal gauntlet met his face and sent him sailing to the floor. Their turn. They didn't bother with distance. They were right above him, straddling him, and though their heart felt like it would explode from how fast it was working, and their lungs were tissue-paper lightly wetted with blood, Kris just kept going. It wasn't a fight anymore, just an altercation between two walking, talking mummies. Dust and blood, lab coat and fatigues. Uniforms tattered and energy dispersed like a nuclear bomb. Every hit was cathartic, and it bought time. Cadaver would recover any second, now.

The weight of the world fell upon Kris: bones against dust. Blood came from their nose, dozens of cuts, an unending amount of bruises, and their muscles were swollen and sore like they had just fought an entire army in one monster. The demon had a human face, so they supposed they could sympathize with it on hating the nose, and the cheekbones, but two black eyes stared at them from disintegrating skin. Kris did one, then two. Cadaver roared with every hit. He kicked and thrashed. Kris could barely hold still on their own. Eventually, they rolled over and couldn't finish it.

He stood up, looming like a hawk with talons bared, blade poised to finish it there, but he paused and hovered, shrieking gasping breaths until he conceded and retracted his blade, standing.

"Persistent shit… aren't… you…

That's fine… looks like you win…"

Kris was confused until he stood and stumped over to their legs, kicking weakly as he grabbed their calves and began to pull. His scratched face was gushing dust like a waterspout, leaving a trail not unlike the trail of Kris's blood. He pulled them toward the railing.

"I made… a promise… to kill every human, to make it… impersonal. Guns…

I am a sniper… I pay attention to detail… I hold sight-lines…"

They fought until they couldn't anymore. In an odd show of sympathy, they could visualize the other look away from the red petals and nod its abyssal head in a show of respect for Kris. No one ever said they went down pathetically. They fought, and fought like hell.

"But… as FUCKING al… always, a human… fucks everything up…

It wasn't enough to torture our dead, was it… no, the living, too…"

Kris moaned and groaned as their second wind died off, the emptiness of their veins settling in as the world glazed over, and they had to remind themself where they were. They thought they heard a voice.

"... every human… be it mage… man, child… woman… impersonally…

…without ever torching them… quick… clean…

I need my gun… for you, Kris…"

Their name roused them slightly, as well as the soldier letting go of their legs to gimp over to his gun. He lifted it with two hands, droning on in misery as his back fought against him. They were given a moment's respite as he leaned back, tried to reorient himself into a professional manner, calling in on his radio. Something about heavy resistance, a stalemate. Kris was so far gone they closed their eyes and begged for death before listening to the soldiers more, the damn demons.

"Oh… youuuu take to the left and run for your life, no matter the magic, the sword, the knife…

And you keep fightin' on, you keep those bastards gone. Keep those humies gone…"

He turned around.

Kris didn't know how proud they were of it, but they saw that Ralsei was stubborn as hell. Hats off to him they supposed. Dying with Kris. They appreciated his company. They could just hold him into the night and finally be at peace. He tackled the soldier against the railing, unable to do anything but hold him. Cadaver smashed his rifle's stock against the Darkner, but he held.

Kris sighed and groaned and moaned, all at once. One more time. Kris was strong. Kris couldn't… they… the… they had to… help, do something. They were strong enough to do it once. Could do it twice. Once for Ralsei, twice for… everyone else. God, they could just kiss him after this. Kris did a double-take. Lack of oxygen. Okay, they had something still in them. Some semblance of clarity. Their leg rattled and wrecked their composure and had them scaling decibels unlike any opera singer could hope to do. A wretched thing that squeezed and sent pain through their thigh, lancinating their every move. Cadaver noticed his surroundings, this time, and watched Kris crawl to the railing. A little help couldn't hurt.

"Fuck-" He wasn't singing anymore. "Stay DOWN."

"Fuck you!" Kris spat. He stuggled harder, rasping, kneeing Ralsei and fighting him like a trapped beast. He finally won out and separated, going to aim his rifle at Kris-

They launched forward like a human noose, leaping at the last second at the old supports of the railing and wrapping like a cocoon around Cadaver. The metal rivets squirmed and busted and bent, exploding under the weight until the two were in full-motion, falling over the edge of the bent support. They saw terror and fear in his eyes, their own face blank, exhausted, but proved with determination: Fully ready to die that moment.

They swung over the side, Cadaver grappling for a hand-hold before meeting nothing. Kris grinned thinly at him and watched the world around them begin to fall. Like when running from the Lobotomy. Like when falling to the crater. Like falling from the tree. Like the winged-creature falling, into the prophesied fate. How twisted. But they weren't scared of the fall today. Just the landing. Because they really, really didn't want to die before they got home. They had to see their life one last time.

But not everything works out how you want it to.

Except, luck was upon them. More specifically, they were unlucky today.

The experiment continues.

Their hand clasped around a metal rod and held it so tightly it dented, while the other hand fished for a blood-stained bit of pie jammed into their pockets and devoured it hungrily. Strength returned for a moment, simmering away the pain and stitching some wounds. Below, Cadaver fell so many meters, Kris was sure he would die. They watched. He landed roughly, in a wallowing mist of dust and dried, crimson blood, parts of himself and Kris leaking together, and he stayed stock-still for some time, but after a few agonizing seconds of Kris acutely feeling every pain that made them squeeze the rod harder, he rubbed his hand to his head, rifle only some feet away. They would be seeing him again.

Probable.

Kris pushed away from the railing.

Adequate performance.

They were still dying. They placed a hand to their drizzling, sleeting wounds and observed the blood coming from it. The trauma surmounting and swiftly started to claw at their seams, even through the healing.

Utilize the power.

Kris felt around their body, momentarily distracted and lucid, spinning in their own skin.

It was draining to stand; draining to hold their arm like a heavy, abused sling. Nearly tripping on their feet, Kris turned to face Ralsei, having to reach out and grab for a support before they toppled like a landslide. Death was coming. There were ringing bells, percussive and pitchy drums, and a low choir blanketing them with silk and gray veils. The chill from their clothes brutally rejected their body's warmth, and they felt like the epitome of frozen meat, as stiff as a pole and twice as thinned by the battle. They were dying - the idea came, and went, and Kris had to think about home, but it drew them back before they could even try.

They couldn't reach for it. The other's power wasn't a solace - it was hopeless.

You are a tool. Your master will not allow you to break. You will utilize the power. It will arrive easily.

Kris teetered as they stumbled along the last length of railing. Ralsei blinked, and launched up, and approached them, but he couldn't cough up any promises - they were bloody. He stuttered.

"K-Kris, oh, oh, Kris, I… I'll heal you," he choked.

"…Ralsei…" Kris whispered around the stone in their throat, prodding their wide open bullet wound in their thigh. It shackled them tightly and locked them to the ground.

"Shh, shh, it'll be okay. It's okay," he stroked their hair. Healing magic draped over them like a comforting quilt, wrapping them up and easing their tense muscles until Kris let go - they untensed everything and fell toward Ralsei, and his slack-jawed, doubly terrified face barely made them feel bad. They just had to rest.

But they felt alive. Oddly enough, the healing magic wasn't even working in just yet, but Kris felt… aware. Powerful. Like they weren't bleeding everywhere, and they took a deep, chest-rising breath to account for dozens of smaller, timid breaths they missed in their stupor. They popped open their bright red eyes. They clenched their hand. It felt better; their wounds still hurt, but Kris could handle it, only trembling a moderate - but manageable - amount as they worked their way up to lifting an arm.

"Rest, Kris. Please," Ralsei was openly tearing up now, "I'll sing for you. Relax."

His beautiful voice was broken with sorrow as he sang.

"When the light is running low,

And the shadows start to grow,

And the places that you know,

F-Feel like fantasy,"

Kris patted his back.

What was this feeling? This strength that filled them at the sight of Ralsei trying to help them? Why was he trying, for Kris? They didn't deserve any of it. They were weak in all the wrong ways, strong in all the wrong ways. Kris felt like they were damning him, just like they just damned the soldier. He would be the person at the bottom of the building, soon. They knew it; but they couldn't bear to make him suffer under them. Conflicted feelings, exhausted movement - Kris was powerless against the world. Always powerless. But maybe they still had hope.

They fought the other, and though it was a bad idea, one that promised pain and hell, it led them to realize something. They could fight without it. Kris - even with one down - maybe, possibly, had a leg to stand on.

A puppet in means only.

The usual exasperation or smug comeback didn't find them, today. Their wounds were too much; fighting it verbally had no value.

The operator shall elaborate for this scenario. Fate, the metaphysical concept, is no longer bidden to set structure, when, once, the route was conceptualized and pertinacious. Probability commands the universe. Variables remain, regular is irregular. Change is never inevitable. Embellishment dictates inevitably, yet the true misnomer is the essence of exaggeration. Nothing is written. Nothing is impossible.

Kris gave a sardonic smile. A pep talk from the beast. It had to be the blood loss because there was no way their puppeteer was doing that for them.

And yet, the other merely wrapped around them like soft padding as Ralsei's fire warmed them from their toasty hands to their lukewarm feet. Kris figured they better bite the bullet before they actually died. The save point felt leagues better than any drug they could imagine, and the placid hang of the cool returned at full force and calmed their panicking body. The sounds of gunfire hadn't stopped, only slowed; now that the fight was over, the other gave them flashes of Noelle and Susie, which made Kris pause and balk. They were… actually making progress.

"There's a light inside your SOUL,

That's still shining in the cold,

With the truth, the promise in our… hearts~!

Don't forget, I'm with you in the dark~!"

Kris felt their eyes closing, utterly exhausted of any last shred of strength, barely able to reach out and…

In the dark, when all light fails, you see it. The fallen star. The power of your calling shines through you.

And as the world finally ebbed after a long storm, the other merely watched, patient with the vessel, as it fell to a peaceful slumber in the arms of the Prince. Maybe, it didn't have to take any measures. There was one variable it never accounted for, when not in some way eloquently beneficial to the experiment. Kris was no god.

Kris was only human.