Chapter 32

"Birds of a feather"

Tai Prime welcomed them back with the toll of old bells - and singing. Lots of singing, mostly consisting of bird song and whale song and insect song; the merged voices of Taishibethi and Myods and Eecharik and more. It was discordant, haunting, and it had Khidai-Viis by the throat.

"Lamentations for those who have fallen," Ikitri murmured. "For those who are due to fall."

Hawkmoon paused halfway off the Tai shuttle, a shadow having passed over her, and glanced up. There were other ships trailing down after them, towards the spaceport's other landing fields. They weren't built by Tai hands, that was very apparent, nor by Myod. They were pale ovoid things, ranging in size from shuttle-grade to light frigate. Not warships. Luxury, she thought. High-class. For those given to petty comforts and meaningless delights.

"Are they here to grieve too?" she mused.

Ikitri looked at her, just a few paces ahead. "I believe they're here for the Emperor. And for you."

"Me?"

"The Marquess was very interested in making your acquaintance, don't you remember? And she's an old ally of the Imperial household as well; she's reigned over the Eecharik nests since the twenty-third Emperor rose to power."

The Eecharik Iix'ii'xii. Marquess-Potentate. Big bug. "That's not encouraging," Hawkmoon mused.

Ikitri stalled and turned about. His eyes were narrowed as he stepped towards her, stepped closed, and his right hand fell to the hilt of his foldblade. "Don't cause an incident," he said, quietly. "Don't. The Emperor's mercy saved you once, but it won't last. Not if you continue as you are."

"I'm not a politician," Hawkmoon retorted. "I'm a soldier. I do as my gut tells me - so if that bothers any of you, you only have yourselves to blame for putting me in that position."

Ikitri's glare lingered, but he had to move on mere moments later, prompted by a Myod officer bearing a datapad. A new development near Osteor, Hawkmoon expected, or maybe the delivery of further orders. She wondered if the End of Reservation was going to return to the fight, what with having finished escorting the reliquary back home safely.

"Can we not stand around?" Quell grouched. He nudged her shoulder. "Hawkmoon, please - we need to get a look at those wounds."

"Yeah yeah," Hawkmoon grumbled. She helplessly followed along, Cyberwarp on one side and Northwind on the other. Nacelle and Skydive remained with Swiftsear and Sandstorm to take stock of whatever the Tai wanted of them next - and to inquire after battle reports or even a live-feed from the Vahlu system. They'd fought, and they weren't keen on just leaving it at that.

::Update me if you find anything out,:: Hawkmoon urged.

Nacelle waved her on. ::Will do.::

Quell dragged them on, ducking through the local spaceport terminal to a nearby hangar, and once there led them to the prone form of the Aurorus. The shuttle's airlock hissed open, Deciforge just inside. He bleeped a happy greeting. Hawkmoon raised her hand in kind; something about the way the Dartwings interacted with just about everyone was... endearing. The little Seekerling ushered them inside. Hawkmoon made for the bench, pressed her back against the hull (hissing as it brushed over scratches on her wings) and waited for Quell to put together everything they needed. Northwind took his place beside her, elbows on his knees, and huffed irritably.

"You got off lightly," Hawkmoon murmured.

Northwind glanced at her - then looked her up and down, as if only just noticing the state she was in. "I'll say. Who'd you pick a fight with?"

"A big Hive fragger."

"Dead?"

"Yup."

"Why didn't you just shoot him?" Northwind mused. "Looks like you went claw-to-claw."

"We tried shooting him," Cyberwarp spoke up. "It... didn't work."

"It didn't? Did you even hit the damn thing?"

Cyberwarp sullenly nodded. "And nothing hurt him."

"Classic upper echelon wards," Hawkmoon added. "Hive are all about power. The more they kill, the longer they live, the stronger they get. Makes killing the older ones a pain."

"So you... what," Northwind asked. "You stabbed him instead?"

"Yeah, I..." Hawkmoon engaged the wrist-blade of her non-injured servo - or, at least, what was left of it. "Uh, Quell? Do you need to have a look at this too?"

Quell, still rooting through the medkit stored in one of the Aurorus's cargo-containers, didn't so much as look at her. "Give me a moment."

"'Kay."

Northwind frowned at the sight of it. "Nasty. Did it break off in the fragger?"

"No."

"So... wait, how did you kill him, if you couldn't stab him?" Northwind asked, perplexed. "Digits?"

Hawkmoon paused and took out the foldblade. "This..." she mumbled, optics narrowing. "Cut right through him."

"The Emperor gave you that," Cyberwarp observed. "That's her sword."

"Yeah."

"Do you... think she knew you'd need it?"

Hawkmoon opened her mouth to say no, probably not, but... "I'm not sure."

"We could ask her. See if there's any other trouble coming our way down the line."

"I'd rather not."

"'Moon."

"Yes, 'Warp?"

"C'mon." Cyberwarp crossly put her servos on her hip-joints. "She's not a bad person."

"From what you can tell."

"Yeah! I'm an excellent judge of character!"

"I'm hurt, I'm irritable, we'll see about this later on, okay?" Hawkmoon grumbled. "Besides, she's the Emperor. Probably doesn't have time to waste talking about trivialities."

"You're not a triviality."

Northwind made a dramatic gagging expression. "I feel I'm going to purge," he whispered.

Hawkmoon rolled her optics and rapped the knuckles of her intact servo against the side of his helm. "Shut up, you."

Quell returned, had her move her arms out of the way and laid a thin, neatly-cut length of borrowed Tai steel over the break in her plating. He activated the blowtorch and set to work; Hawkmoon turned down the sensitivity of the pain receptors in the area as best she could, but her body wasn't meant for it and gradually reverted - rebelling in its own ways. Still, she took it and gritted her denta until Quell made a humming noise and leaned back.

"There," he said, "this'll set just right."

Hawkmoon vented in relief. "Anything to watch?"

"Just don't jostle the sheet; your frame will assimilate it soon enough."

"I'll need to refurbish this paintjob," Hawkmoon grumbled, looking down at herself. "Thanks, Quell."

"Better than letting rust set in, eh?" Quell moved onto her damaged arm. He took a tool out of internal storage and brought it towards the dented areas - where the Warpriest's fingers had closed in on her frame, leaving the plating crumpled. "Okay, this'll be quick, but it'll be painful."

"What do you me- ah frag!" Hawkmoon bit out. Quell's tool was a magnet of some kind, and the feel of it drawing out the dents was agonizing. "Fragging scraphead!"

Quell tutted. "This scraphead's giving you your servo back."

"JUST HURRY UP!"

Quell popped out the remaining dents and lifted her servo. Hawkmoon felt some sensation coming from the limb, but not everything. She hissed that to him through gritted denta. "Damaged cabling, perhaps some joint damage," Quell mused. "Nothing your self-repair can't handle."

"Are you sure?" Hawkmoon demanded.

"Quite. And, if I'm not, you can always come back. Try a partial transformation for me."

Hawkmoon tried. She managed to make a carbine, but when she tried for a wrist-blade ejection, it only slid halfway out of its sheath before snagging on something and jarring to a halt. "Scrap."

"A job for your self-repair, I said," Quell reminded her. He gestured to the other blade. "This, however, I'm afraid could be permanent. You'll need a replacement."

"Do we have any handy?"

"We packed to explore, Hawkmoon. Not fight a fragging war. No, we don't have any custom-built servo-blades aboard. You're out of luck."

"Aren't I always?" she snarked. "Thanks Quell."

"Can't tell if that's sarcastic or not."

"Bit of both."

"Then you're welcome, I suppose." Quell switched targets - faceplates hardening as he beheld his trine-mate. "Rocks-for-processor. I told you your shielding tech was blinking out."

Northwind raised his servos in surrender. "No harm done!"

"Your stabilizer's been hit!" Quell irritably snapped. "You have scorch marks!"

"Nothing my self-repair can't-"

"Ah ah ah, no no, wings are another matter entirely and you know that. I'm going to have to scan for sensor-damage."

Hawkmoon stood up, stretched to show off to Northwind hah, I can move and you're stuck here now, how's them apples?, and joined Cyberwarp by the airlock. "So-"

"Can I see it?" Cyberwarp asked. "The sword?"

"Uh, sure." Hawkmoon passed the foldblade over. "Don't nick yourself."

Cyberwarp gave her a look. "Thanks for the warning. I feel so trusted"

"Hey, who knows, you're not exactly blade-savvy like I am, so.."

"I did fine, I think." Cyberwarp perked up. "Did you see me out there?"

"You got caught. Twice."

"So did you."

Hawkmoon grumbled. "It's not a competition. 'Sides, I killed the fragger."

"I know, I know." Cyberwarp leaned close and kissed her cheek. "Thank you for that, by the way. I... frag, that was close, wasn't it? Really - thank you."

Hawkmoon tilted into her touch. "No problem."

Cyberwarp turned, keeping the hilt pointed away from them, and flicked out the foldblade. The panels slid out and smoothly locked into place. She clicked the secondary switch; a veneer of violet energy ran up the spine of the blade and coated its deadly edge with wicked matter-destructive properties. "What's-"

"Void," Hawkmoon told her. "The manifestation of absence. Emptiness. Lack of existence. An ever-hungry force. Makes for good blades and even better guns."

"Of course that's what you say," Cyberwarp groaned. "You're so... gung-ho."

"I'm a Martian of NAE-descent," Hawkmoon murmured, propping her chin on 'Warp's pauldron. "Comes with the territory."

"Martian? What's that?"

"Mars. Human planet. Just... yeah."

Cyberwarp switched the foldblade off and retracted the panels, then turned back to face her. "Want to talk about it?"

"Not even a little." Hawkmoon vented. "I want to hear more about Osteor. Let's get back to the others."

"Right, right..." Cyberwarp trailed off, giving her a strange look. "You know you can talk about it. With me. If you want."

"I know." Hawkmoon pressed her helm against 'Warp's. "I know, just... I don't feel like sharing more than's strictly necessary. What I know... It's all I have left of all that happened before. Let's…" she sighed. "Yeah, let's just go. Please. I'm due some good news."

They found the others right where they'd left them, by the Taishibethi shuttle. Swiftsear had a borrowed datapad in hand and was too engrossed in reading/watching whatever was on the screen to notice their return, Skydive peeking over his shoulder and wing. Nacelle and Sandstorm were to the side, speaking with an Eecharik in a biosuit with sashes and bandoliers heavy with holsters and automated sling-systems. An outlaw gunslinger - and one she knew.

"Oor'un'xu," Hawkmoon warily greeted, approaching quickly.

The Eecharik twirled about and tipped his head. "Hawkmoon, right?"

"Yeah." She offered her servo - mostly as a test, see if his people adhered to something close. Did aliens do handshakes? Or some other social cue? The latter, apparently, because Oor'un'xu only hesitated for a moment before brushing the knuckles of one of his dominant hands against hers. "It's a pleasure," Hawkmoon added - and, for the most part, being honest.

"The pleasure's all mine, sky-runner," Oor'un'xu chattered right back. He was a fierce looking wasp-spider thing, all gangly and packed with almost too many guns to keep track of, but he radiated all the sauntering confidence of a Guardian Hunter. In short: her kind of people. Oor'un'xu unclipped a flask at his belt and took a sip. "So - Osteor?"

Hawkmoon's smile fell. "It's a meat grinder, last I saw. Is that why you're here?"

"What do you mean?"

"You're giving us new orders, right?"

Oor'un'xu gave her a curious look. "I'm not privy to the Admiralty Board's decisions - or the battle-reports of its Marooner-fleets. I just wanted to get the lay of the land, so to speak."

"Ah, right. Well, it's a mess."

"It is," Oor'un'xu agreed. "The Foe are disrupting business. I've got concerned parties from all around asking if there's a fix coming."

"I wouldn't know. I'm not privy either."

"Pity, that."

A thought struck Hawkmoon. "Are you here because of the Emperor, then?" she guessed.

Oor'un'xu clicked out a quick burst of noise - like laughter. "Can't I be here to check up on my favourite mechanoforms?"

Hawkmoon raised an optical ridge. "You haven't known us long enough."

"Hey, it's you or the Judge - and that thing's disgusting."

"So?"

"Yeah, okay, not strictly because of 'Sel. I'm not so fond of the whole... Imperial-business thing."

"You're friends with the Emperor. That comes with the territory."

"Friends," Oor'un'xu snorted. "Feels more like I'm the court jester these days. Haven't been contributing as much as I'd have preferred. But hey - maybe I can do some help now. For you, not just 'Sel."

"Oh?"

"Watch yourself around the Marquess-Potentate," Oor'un'xu warned, growing serious. "Iix'ii'xii doesn't play nice when she doesn't get her way."

"Thanks?" Hawkmoon hesitated. "It won't really matter; we'll be shipping back out to the Vahlu system shortly."

"Is that a fact?"

"I mean, probably. There's more work to be done."

"Plenty," Sandstorm muttered.

"Not without an Imperial go-ahead," Oor'un'xu said, glancing at him. "Even my freelancers aren't allowed to ride the Bridge no more; what makes you think you can? You're in the Board's pocket now, sky-runners. You play by their rules, or you don't play at all."

"What do you mean?" Nacelle asked with a frown. "You can't travel by spacebridge?"

"No sir, not anymore. State of emergency and all that. 'Sel declared it herself not an hour earlier on a public frequency. The Board's taking it very seriously. No unauthorized flights allowed, under threat of detainment or worse." Oor'un'xu paused. "Probably worse if they find it's me. Virutes - oh, now there's a Tai who can hold a grudge."

"What does the Star-Court say about this?" Nacelle questioned, glancing at the others with worry. "Are they in accord about this?"

Oor'un'xu hesitated and looked at Hawkmoon. "Not all. That's... in a way, why I'm here. So - got any good news Vahlu-wise?"

"I killed the Warpriest," Hawkmoon quietly admitted. "The local Hive fleet commander."

"Right, that is good news. Might give 'Sel something to focus on - 'cause that's what we need of her. Her focus."

"What's wrong?"

Oor'un'xu hesitated again. "The Khargrive's pulling a runner."

"A what?"

"He's drawing in every Tenerjiin in the Star-Web back home to Crux - their lunar home." The Eecharik scowled - mandibles flaring open, his many eyes glinting dangerously. "Dead place, with borders even I can't cross - not with my shell intact and mind in... in enough pieces to count, I suppose."

"They're leaving?" Cyberwarp exclaimed.

"Shhh," Oor'un'xu hissed, glancing around. "Not so loud now. Ain't public knowledge."

"But-"

"Yeah, they are. No one rightly knows why, far as I can tell. But that order covers the lot of them - including Triipotes."

"That old Meex mentioned him yesterday," Hawkmoon murmured. "I think I saw him too - up in the gardens."

Oor'un'xu nodded. "Yep, that's him. Big man, soft voice, few words. 'Sel's getting torn up - by Khargrive and Triipotes both. Two betrayals in her mind, and both sting something fierce."

"Triipotes is another friend of hers, right?" Nacelle guessed. "Like you?"

Oor'un'xu made a motion with his secondary arms. "He's 'Sel's lover. They'd been going steady since... oh, I don't know, just about as far as I can remember."

"That's awful," Hawkmoon drawled coolly. "I'm so sorry for her. Tell her that for me, would you?"

"You can tell her yourself," Oor'un'xu cheekily shot back.

"I've got better things to do than play nursemaid. Like fight a war."

"Oh, trust me, that'll be all me." Oor'un'xu pressed his mandibles together. "It's bad luck that the Marquess's here. Iix'ii'xii is a 'friend' to the throne, and I mean that loosely. She finds 'Sel in a bad way, she'll eat her alive."

"I still don't see what this has to do with me."

"The Augur wanted me to throw you up against Triipotes before he leaves proper. Then maybe have a chit-chat afterwards, if we find the time to get together. Something about this feels wrong."

Hawkmoon frowned. "... What? Augur wants-"

"Yeah," Oor'un'xu said with a sympathetic nod. "'Pparently the orb saw something or other. Or maybe he thinks he will, if you do this - I'm not entirely sure, Verunlix and their dreams just ain't my business."

"No, I'm not about to play royal matchma-" Hawkmoon started to say.

"She'll do it," Sandstorm interrupted. He gave her a firm look - almost daring her to contradict him. "You will."

"Sir-" Nacelle began.

"This isn't for discussion, Seeker."

Hawkmoon schooled her faceplates into a blank expression. "Fine."

"Great!" Oor'un'xu took another sip from his black flask, then offered it to her. "Want some courage?"

"Why would I-"

"Triipotes is a Tenerjiin. You don't mess with Tenerjiin. Unless your name is Augur Seven-One and you have no scruples about kicking the metaphorical nest. By all the queen-mothers I love that little spirit..."

"I'm fine, thanks," Hawkmoon replied.

"You sure? It tastes just like motor oil. I don't even know why I'm drinking it."

"That's... yeah, that's probably worse."

"What do you... Ah." Oor'un'xu nodded with understanding. "'Spose so. Would've been interesting to see, though."

"Eh, not to experience."

"Probably not. Ready?"

Hawkmoon exchanged an exasperated look with Cyberwarp and Nacelle. The former offered her a hesitant smile and the latter simply shrugged noncommittally. "Not particularly."

"Great, let's go."

"What about the Admiralty Board?"

"What about them?"

"They could be looking for us - for me while we're gone."

"Your folk could tell them the truth, then," Oor'un'xu pointed out. "Or half of it, anyhow. Emperor wants you for something."

"But if the Hive-"

"'Sides, you need to tell her you took out a commander. Get to planning whatever comes next."

Hawkmoon grimaced. "I'd hoped to do that with Oroses."

"'Sel's good people, trust me. Take it from an Eecharik nest-malsocialite. Besides, she knows far more than she lets on - and she already lets on a lot. Might know something about this mess. A fix, even - 'cause we need one."

"This is stupid."

"Yes," Oor'un'xu cheerfully agreed. "It is."

"So why are we doing it?" Hawkmoon challenged. They were walking along the plaza before the gates of the Imperial Palace.

"Because the powers that be decided this was the course to take."

"Since when is Augur the 'powers that be'?"

"Since he rose to the Star-Court."

"So?"

Oor'un'xu looked at her. "I like you. A lot."

"I want to say the feeling's mutual, but I don't like this so... you're just okay," Hawkmoon grumbled.

"I've heard worse."

"So," she said, just to move on, "what's the deal with the Tenerjiin?"

Oor'un'xu chittered out a laugh. "The whole Protectorate's been asking that question for as long as we've been aware of them. No one knows, and wise folk don't care to find out."

"Why's that?"

"Tenerjiin are dangerous, sky-runner."

"But why, though?" Hawkmoon persisted. "Besides being... well, big."

Oor'un'xu gave her a stern look. "You heard the Verunlix and 'Sel talk; the Khargrive's got some colourful history."

"I also heard one of the Taishibethi Emperors was killed by the Khargrive. Why isn't he dead himself?"

"Because one does not simply kill the Khargrive."

"He's that dangerous?"

"He served Kharad-Tan," Oor'un'xu responded, voice falling to a low, sharp whisper. "He served the Arch-Fiend. Under the First Fiend's instructions, the Khargrive shattered worlds and killed empires; he knows more about the Foe's dread power than any living thing has any right to."

Hawkmoon frowned. "Sounds like the exact kind of person I need to talk with."

"And do what?"

"Formulate a way to kill off the Hive."

"I would be afraid if you did. The Khargrive..." Oor'un'xu trailed off.

"Is what?" Hawkmoon pressed, fishing for answers, something. "The Khargrive is what?"

Oor'un'xu hesitated. "My people are no saints," he muttered, lowly. "We're not kind by any means - not as Tai and Myods or even the gentle Iurphins are, but... we've all had our villains, even my folk. Our very own monsters. My Eecharik have had some particularly unpleasant queen-mothers in the past, ones that make Iix'ii'xii look downright cute in comparison. The Tai had their bloody civil war, what with their Refusalist Shadow-Emperor, and the Myods had their Drowning God, but... Okay, imagine, for a moment, that the most reprehensible person in your kind's history, the very worst of your people - imagine all the horrors dealt upon their word, all the blood or whatever have you dripping from their hands. Imagine they'd been given the reins to decide the fates of entire star clusters, given all eternity to wage their gruesome crusade. Now imagine that they still live millenia after doing all that - as a hermit on a moon mired in the impermeable mists of quick death, a fell general of existence's greatest enemy. That is the Khargrive to us. He was second only to Kharad-Tan, and he's still alive."

"But... why did he stop?" Hawkmoon asked, bewildered. "Why did he stop fighting, killing? Critters like those don't usually up and quit."

Oor'un'xu shrugged. "I don't know. I don't care to know. See? Wise. Better to leave those Tenerjiin to tend to themselves. Saves the rest of us a headache - or worse."

"So where does Triipotes fall in all this?" Hawkmoon inquired next. Oh, she wanted to know more; the Khargrive sounded like... she didn't know. A little like Oryx, in all honestly, give or take a couple of genocides.

"It's not just him. All the Tenerjiin are being recalled to Crux," Oor'un'xu explained. He added, much more softly, "If I were a gambling Eechi-worker, then I'd put my money on the Khargrive switching sides on us - returning back to the Foe's fold."

"The Hive would kill him," Hawkmoon answered. They were nearing the energy field of the Imperial Palace's gates. "They'd tear him apart. Oryx and His Sisters would tear him apart between Them, limb from limb, just because They could."

"Maybe that's what happens, in your future-past," Oor'un'xu suggested. "But what do I know? I'm just an up-jumped gun-runner some highborn Tai took a fancy to."

"Yeah, and I'm the time-traveling alien stowaway who never listened when the adults were talking," Hawkmoon grumbled. "If I could meet my past self I'd slug her across the face for not paying enough attention, because we are so screwed."

Oor'un'xu chortled. "I really, really like you."

They marched right to the great stairway leading up to the Helioarian Palatium, and found that the Marquess-Potentate and a couple of her Eecharik guards had already beaten them there - at the foot of the stairs, speaking with the giant demon-esque thing Hawkmoon had noticed in the Palatium's gardens. Triipotes, she assumed. Incredibly tall, massive, with two digitigrade legs ending in dark talons to support his colossal frame. A slim tail swayed behind him, reptilian and ending in a barbed hook. He had four arms - not with their own individual sets of shoulders each like the Fallen, no, just two shoulders and a pair of arms assigned to each. All four hands have five thin, bony fingers tipped with gnarled black claws. His entire body was packed with sinewy muscle, hidden beneath a covering of thick leathery skin and strange shell-like keratinous plating. His head was the most alien thing - shaped like a blunted dish, with numerous curling horns running from the back of his crested skull. There was no mouth to be seen - at least until he spoke, the stray glint of the evening light bouncing off long hidden fangs under where his six eyes burned. He was another half-of-a-Seeker taller than her and looked more than capable of tearing her apart with his bare hands.

But when he spoke, it was in the chirping Tai tongue, and he did so softly - like Oor'un'xu had claimed he would. "I cannot," he said to Iix'ii'xii. "My father gives the order, and I must follow. His will is my directive."

Iix'ii'xii tutted. "Now that is a shame."

"Apologies." Triipotes bowed his head, made to leave her, then spotted them approaching. "Cybertronian. Outcast."

"Good day to you too," Oor'un'xu said with a tip of his head. His tone sharpened as he beheld the Marquess-Potentate. "Matron."

"Son," Iix'ii'xii coldly replied. "I see you still cling to those more interesting than yourself - like an Alluvion tick."

Oor'un'xu chuckled. "Ah, those Alluvion Understanding critters aren't so bad. Trick is to wear insulative suiting." He glanced Hawkmoon's way. "Those things go mad for blood, you see. A whiff of it and they'll be all over you - turn you into a new Voice of theirs. But no scent? Oh, they'll prove themselves reasonable customers and then some."

"You would do well to keep this one at a distance, dear," Iix'ii'xii told Hawkmoon, her insidious eyes not once straying from the smaller Eecharik. "He's nothing but trouble. A wasted investment; I should have strangled him in his nursery-chamber when I had the chance."

Triipotes hummed - not really listening, but staring at Hawkmoon all the same. His eyes were like portholes into hell itself - full of very real fire. "The scent of death is upon you," he remarked.

Hawkmoon looked down at her chassis. "Yeah, I, uh... I should've washed, but most of it's burnt off so I figured... yeah, bad idea. Any washracks in that ol'...?" She nodded towards the Palatium.

Triipotes looked back at the palace. "Yes. My once-dirva would be glad to offer her hospitality, I think, including the facilities of her home. She is quite taken with you."

"And not alone," Iix'ii'xii chittered with anticipation - voice turning sickly-sweet. Her focus switched over to Hawkmoon. "I've heard you crossed blades with the Foe. What a delightful little conundrum you are - fighting for a cause not your own. On behalf of an inferior alien enterprise, no less."

"The Hive need killing," Hawkmoon stonily replied. "It's the right thing to do."

"Why do you insist on referring to them as such? Are they not the Foe?"

"The Hive is what they call themselves."

"And you would honour them so?" Iix'ii'xii curiously inquired.

"Nothing like that." Hawkmoon shook her helm, growing exasperated. "It's not about honour or respect - because they deserve none."

"Then what is it?"

"Accuracy, I guess."

Iix'ii'xii hummed. "I do wonder how it is you became so familiar with them. I can sense the promise of a riveting story right."

"Not one I'm willing to divulge just yet, I'm afraid," Hawkmoon replied.

"A pity." A mischievous glint entered the Marquess-Potentate's eyes. "Perhaps I'll charm it out of you in due time."

"We'll see about that."

"Oh yes, we'll see..." Iix'ii'xii turned to Triipotes. "If you're so set on leaving us, please do deliver to your father my good wishes. I hope he and I will be given the chance to speak soon."

Triipotes bowed his head and made to leave.

"Wait," Hawkmoon called out. Triipotes stopped and craned his head around to give her a quizzical look. "Why are you leaving?"

"My father has recalled me," Triipotes replied matter-of-factly.

"The Khargrive?"

"Indeed."

"But... why?"

"My father has his reasons."

"But you could probably help if you stayed, you know."

"Possibly."

"But..." Hawkmoon hesitated; this wasn't really the kind of business she'd wanted to get involved in, but if only to draw out a reaction, she asked, "But what about the Emperor?"

Triipotes hummed to himself. Mournfully. "I... will miss her," he quietly lamented.

And walked away.

"I do admire the Tenerjiini tenacity," Iix'ii'xii softly remarked. "Their stolidity of spirit. They are dutiful creatures; perfect in their little ways."

"Nothing much little about them," Hawkmoon muttered.

Iix'ii'xii laughed. "Perhaps not. Shall we-"

"No," a phenomenally-deep voice intoned from right behind them

Hawkmoon twirled around and- sweetTraveleraboveshitfuckfragscrap! -there stood the monumentally-sized Castellan-Excubitor himself, standing just beyond the Marquess-Potentate with the pommel of his beam-lance resting on the bottom step.

How the hell had he gotten there without any of them noticing him? Without any of them hearing him? The mollusc was titanic.

"Eecharik entry: temporarily barred," the Castellan rumbled.

Iix'ii'xii tilted her head. "Excuse me?"

"Cybertronian," the Myod went on. "Entry: permitted."

"I am-"

"Eecharik entry: barred."

Iix'ii'xii fumed.

"That's a special invitation if I've ever head one," Oor'un'xu chortled. He looked at Hawkmoon and indicated for her to get a move on. "Tell 'Sel I'm thinking about her. And that I'd appreciate the chance to get some of my merchandise moving, if she'd be so kind."

"Opportunistic cur," Iix'ii'xii snarled.

Oor'un'xu beamed. "Now that is an irony I can live with."

"Cybertronian: approach," the Castellan-Excubitor deeply groaned. "The Emperor awaits."

The massive doors of the Helioarian Palatium swung open, seemingly of their own volition. Úthaessel was within, slumped down on her knees in the middle of the first hall's beautiful mosairc-ridden floor, and surrounded by the ceramic shards of what had once been an old vase. She had one of those shards in her hand, having used it to lay open the opposite palm and dip it into the welling globules of purple blood to paint out a partial glyph.

And Hawkmoon did not like the look of it.

"What are you doing?" she sharply demanded.

Úthaessel looked up, took in the sight of her with wet eyes, and hung her head down. A single tear rolled down the length of her beak, hung at its hooked end and then, finally, dropped down to the floor below to smudge a section of the rune. There was an untitled book beside her, ancient and weathered and bound with what looked like... organic matter of some kind. Like cartilage, but not rotting away - instead having dried and solidified into something stiff and flaky.

Hawkmoon marched forward, took in the sight of the glyph, and whispered, "Witch-craft."

"I'm sorry," Úthaessel whispered. "I'm so sorry. I only-"

"There's no fragging excuse!" Hawkmoon roared, exploding with anger. "I don't give a scrap what reason you have! There is nothing that gives you the permission to damn your people with... with this!" She kicked her pede over the glyph, smearing the thin lines of blood over the floor - ruining all its frightening cohesion.

"It was a spell of communion," Úthaessel mumbled. "I only wanted to ask him why."

"Because he has a higher duty, maybe! Look, I don't give a frag about your relationship with Triipotes, that's your business, but don't you dare-"

"Not him." Úthaessel looked up at her. "The Khargrive."

Hawkmoon trailed off, but her glare remained. "He's being a coward, so what?"

"We need him. I need him. I can't..." Úthaessel averted her eyes. "I can't... defeat the Arch-Fiend alone. I cannot. It's not within my power."

"You said-"

"Yes, I promised you I'd handle it, but now I can't. I'm sorry. I'm..." Úthaessel let out a shaky breath. Her wings hung limply from her back, spread out across the floor behind her like a dark feathered carpet. "I'm terrified. For my people."

"That excuse again," Hawkmoon bit out. "Always for your fragging people. Never because of yourself."

Úthaessel paused. Looked at her. "Do you truly hate me so?"

Hawkmoon almost said yes. A huge part of her wanted to say yes - to hurt that dragon-part of the Emperor, to make her suffer for even daring to fall to the use of what clearly resembled Dark magic, to just take out all her broiling anger and frustration on someone else, but...

But wouldn't have been fair. The universe rarely was fair, but she wasn't the universe. It would've been wrong.

So all she managed in the end was a hesitant, "I'm not sure."

There was a long pause. Eventually, Hawkmoon reluctantly asked her, "Why is the Khargrive pulling back?"

Úthaessel chirped quickly. "I don't know. I don't. He is... I cannot understand him. I cannot read him as I do others. I don't-..."

Another stretch of silence. It was startlingly uncomfortable. "Alright," Hawkmoon announced with a sigh. She stepped closer and offered a servo. "Come on, get up."

Úthaessel looked at the proffered limb, then up at Hawkmoon's faceplates.

"Or don't, if you really-"

The Tai grasped her servo and pulled herself up - book forgotten. "I'm sorry."

Hawkmoon said nothing.

"Why do you hate me?"

"Do you really have to ask?"

"Because my mother was a dragon," Úthaessel bitterly muttered. She glanced away.

"A dragon killed me," Hawkmoon said quietly. "And before that, all I'd ever heard or seen of them were things straight out of a horror movie. And then you pulled that scrap - 'o wayfarer mine'."

"For your own protection."

"Is it, now?"

"Yes. I don't want to alienate the only chance my people might have to survive." Úthaessel let go and stepped away - and even when unbalanced by frustration, she cut an elegant figure, every movement a thing of grace. "From the moment I've hatched, it's always been for my people. And I don't feel angry about that, don't mistake me, because I love them. I only... I wish others would trust me. You and the Khargrive. Both of you, the only keys to ending this war the right way, and neither of you have any desire to cooperate."

"Trust isn't easy to come by," Hawkmoon reminded her. "Now- where in the Pit did you get that book?"

"It was a gift," Úthaessel murmured, looking down at it. "To the tenth Emperor upon her hatching."

"From who?"

"The Khargrive."

Of course.

"Why?"

"For murdering the ninth Emperor. It was her blood-price, according to him."

"And no one punished him?" Hawkmoon asked incredulously. "Not even your fanatically loyal Myods?"

"Some tried," Úthaessel mumbled, "but the Khargrive is... Crux is his stronghold. And nothing living can persist there. Nothing that is not Tenerjiin. The Star-Court was satisfied that he would remain under 'house-arrest' for the rest of his life as punishment. It was the only sentence that would stick."

"What did he kill you for?"

"Trying to eliminate the Foe before they could rise up."

Hawkmoon frowned. "The Hive? He stopped you from killing the Hive?"

"Her," Úthaessel corrected. "Each instance of an Emperor follows the same genetic genome and have similar behaviourisms when hatched, but... we are distinguishable from one another in life."

"Yeah, I don't care. The question stands. Why?"

Úthaessel shrugged. "I don't know. I don't have her memories. Only their memoirs - and she never recorded her reasonings. Augur tells me she was following his advice to avert this very war, but... I don't trust that he isn't pushing his own agenda. He hates the Khargrive. More vehemently than I ever imagined someone could hate."

"Oh, people can hate pretty intensely," Hawkmoon muttered. "You just have to push them far enough."

"I... shouldn't have tried this," Úthaessel said, shamefaced. "This book is... riddled with evil things. I thought I could... no, you are right. There is no excuse."

Hawkmoon picked the tome up. "I'm going to destroy it."

"Not read it yourself?" Úthaessel asked, giving her an unreadable look.

Hawkmoon gave her a stern look. "Of course not. I've seen where this kind of knowledge gets people - and it's nowhere good."

"... Then do it. Preserve us from the temptation."

"Why?"

"What?"

"Why even try in the first place?" Hawkmoon pressed.

Úthaessel hesitated. "It was a compromise. I wanted to petition the Solar Array to set in place an audience with the Khargrive, but the Augur told me that the Star-Web's light wouldn't pierce the death-mists of Crux. He wanted me to send a battlefleet to purge the entire moon from the Web. I... cannot. I will not sign a warrant for the deaths of every Tenerjiin. Nor will I have the Khargrive assassinated; I don't bear him enough ill-will to do so."

"You might need to," Hawkmoon said carefully, "regardless of how you feel. If he's turning-"

"He's not."

"How do you know?"

"... Because of trust." Úthaessel lifted her beak. "Because I choose to trust he isn't evil. I choose to trust that he isn't working against us. Just like I chose to trust you - welcome you into my Palatium and confidence. We can choose how easy it is to come by trust. I respect that you think otherwise, but I know you're wrong. I know it."

"Either you're pushing your own agenda," Hawkmoon quietly remarked, "or you're naive."

"I wish you would trust me. I really do."

"That's not how the world works."

"Why not?" Úthaessel challenged. The ferocity in her burning eyes lasted all of a moment before guttering out. "If I have to earn it, I will earn it, but..."

Hawkmoon tossed the tome out of the air, activated her shoulder cannon and blasted it to smoking smithereens. "There," she said stiffly. "Now I hope you don't have any more of those."

"Not that I know of," Úthaessel evenly replied. "My forebears had stocked a formidable library in their own lifetimes. I know less than a fraction of its contents."

"You think there could be more of these in there?"

"I don't know. None of my predecessors were particularly close to the Khargrive, so perhaps not."

"But you are."

"Am I?"

"Triipotes," was all Hawkmoon said.

She almost wished she hadn't, because the look that crossed Úthaessel's face was nothing short of heartbreaking.

"If this ends... poorly," Úthaessel whispered, "then my biggest regret will be not having told him farewell."

Wasn't that just a knife to the heart?

Hawkmoon blinked - because... because that was her reigning affliction too, wasn't it? All those people she loved, that she was never going to see again; she would've liked at least a chance to say farewell to some of them at least. It wasn't... fair.

"The Warpriest's dead," she said, just to change the subject and distract herself. Ruminating on the past was simply too painful a weight to bear. "He was a prominent figure in Oryx's court down the line."

"Good. That's good." Úthaessel brought herself up, rolled her shoulders and briefly stretched out her wings. She looked Hawkmoon's way - and her eyes roved over her patched wounds. "He almost felled you?"

Hawkmoon shrugged. "Our weapons weren't really working against him. It..." she hesitated. "It was your sword."

"My sword?" Úthaessel repeated.

"That killed him. Nothing else we used worked." Hawkmoon pulled the foldblade out of storage. "It uses Void."

"The Beyond," Úthaessel acknowledged. She sounded tired. All but done with talking, and still trying to make the effort to be kind. It leeched some of the fervour from Hawkmoon's frustration with her. "I am aware."

"The rest of your people's swords use Solar."

"The Sun's Kiss, yes."

"Why is there a difference? Why is your one different?"

"Because the Nullblade you bear was forged not for I, but the Shadow-Emperor reared by the Refusalists," Úthaessel explained. "To be charged on the gloom of the empty night, not the glare of the Father Sun. To deliver a dire sentence of her own volition, not of our god above."

Hawkmoon made a face. "Yeah, I understood absolutely none of that."

"It matters not. You need not worry about its power supply either; the Beyond-orientated charges subsist on stray elements of vacuum-energy."

"Vacuum energy?"

"Flickers of power in the still fields of un-existence. A weapon more fitting for one of your vocation than a Sunsword, I had thought." Úthaessel nodded to herself, apparently satisfied. "I'm glad it has served you well."

"It's sharp," Hawkmoon mused. She flicked the sabre out. "Very sharp. Sharper than my own blades."

"It would be. Custom-built for an Emperor."

"A Shadow-Emperor."

"Yes."

"Like... what in the Pit is that?" Hawkmoon asked.

Úthaessel shifted uncomfortably. "A Refusalist attempt to shatter the Sun's dominion. Entirely irrelevant to our current predicament."

"Fine." Hawkmoon looked around. The hall looked otherwise deserted. "If that's all, I'll get back to Vahlu."

"You're injured," Úthaessel pointed out. "Stay. Please. Allow me to help."

"Like what you did there?" Hawkmoon gestured to the smudged rune.

"That... was a moment of weakness, of poor judgement. I-" Úthaessel trailed off. She seemingly finally remembered her cut palm and splayed the fingers of her free hand over it - and fire sparked between her claws, flaring over the bloodied wound. A flash of the unnatural magic later, and the rip in her flesh was gone without even a scar to remember it by.

It looked a lot like dragon-magic.

Hawkmoon's mouth went dry. Or - it would've if that had been any more possible than it already was. "There's..." she started to say, both enraptured and disturbed in not quite so equal parts. Definitely more of the latter. "The Marquess-Potentate's waiting to see you."

"Iix'ii'xii," Úthaessel mused. "So quick to catch the scent of weakness. Is that why you're here? On her behalf?"

"Oor'un'xu's, rather. He..." Hawkmoon hesitated. "I'm not entirely sure what he wanted, but it was on the Augur's behalf, so... yeah."

"And where is he now?"

"Oor'un'xu? He's down that way with Iix'ii'xii," Hawkmoon irritably grunted, jutting a thumb over her shoulder.

Úthaessel's eyes widened. The worry Hawkmoon saw there was genuine. She even went so far as to mumble "Oh no."

"Is that... a problem?" Hawkmoon questioned.

"Excubitor!" Úthaessel called out.

A Myod supersoldier noiselessly stomped towards them from one of the walls - and Hawkmoon almost jumped out of her frame when it did. She hadn't noticed it being there at all. It groaned an inquiry.

"Would you please inform the Marquess-Potentate that I am unfortunately indisposed for tonight, but that she is welcome to attend the Palatium for supper on the morrow?"

The Excubitor bowed its head.

"And send Oor'un'xu up, if you would. I have some words to share with him."

The Excubitor neatly turned about and marched out.

The way Oor'un'xu sauntered into the Palatium was entirely at odds with just about everything around him; a rugged insectoid outlaw armed to the teeth in a place of delicate, peaceful splendor.

"'Sel!" he gnashed out through flashing mandibles.

"What did you do?" Úthaessel questioned, exasperated.

"Me? Oh, nothing."

"What did you say to her?"

"Many things. A great many colourful things," Oor'un'xu happily replied. "I think she was even impressed, in the end. I certainly was; never knew I had it in me." He glanced Hawkmoon's way. "Everything okay, sky-runner?"

Hawkmoon shrugged.

"That's exactly the answer I was looking for. So - 'Sel, I've got some old friends stranded by the old spaceport. I could pull together a rifle-game if you're interested."

"Thank you for the offer," Úthaessel said slowly, "but my time for pleasantries is rather... limited, as you well know."

"You've got to work, I get that. Let's bring that game to your garden, then."

"Oor..."

"Don't argue now, I think we all need a little cheering up, don't we?" Oor'un'xu looked to Hawkmoon for support.

"I got to go," she grunted. "It's been... interesting. I'll see you-"

"The battle in Vahlu is all but won," Úthaessel announced. "You may rest easy for now, Seeker."

Hawkmoon offlined her optics. "There's still so much more I could be doing."

"Nothing a Tai can't," Oor'un'xu shot back.

"Are you sure? The Hive-"

"Need to be dealt with appropriately," Úthaessel agreed. "Which will take time."

"Great!" Oor'un'xu chittered. "We'll talk strategy then - in your garden."

Hawkmoon huffed. "I can't-"

"Right, so I might've bartered for some of that high-grade energon you mechanoforms love so much."

Hawkmoon turned on him. "How?"

Oor'un'xu flared his mandibles out. "Now now, that's my little secret."

Hawkmoon groaned. High-grade… "Fine. Just a cube."

"Cube? That's not what I've got." Oor'un'xu tilted his head. "I guess you'll just have to make do."

The high-grade was passable, if well-aaged (though that didn't mean much for energon), but the best part was that it came in beautiful old crystalline bottles. It was a strange little delight that harkened back to her pre-Cybertronian existence and she loved it. Hawkmoon alternated between sipping and swigging - but mostly sipping, because the stuff wasn't exactly flowing, and she wasn't trying to rush to getting overcharged. It still left her plenty amicable - drink had that effect on her. Made her cozy with just about anyone and everyone. She nursed her second bottle at a respectably cautious pace, all the while listening as Úthaessel hummed some old Tai tune and watching as Oor'un'xu hopped along towering sea-stacks at the back of the forest garden to set up a makeshift firing range.

"It's a common Eecharik past-time," Úthaessel explained, just as Oor'un'xu was buzzing his way back - because apparently even the lowliest of worker Eecharik had a set of glossy near-transparent wings hidden under a layer of shell on the back of their thoraxes. "At least among the nest-exiles. Eecharik are a... productive lot, and most of their workers spend most of their lives monotonously operating the factories built beneath their nests. Shooting is a way to both relieve stress and practice for the event of a hostile nest attacking."

Hawkmoon slowly nodded along. She was mostly trying to figure out how her life had led her to that moment, shooting for fun with both a wasp-spider outlaw and a magpie monarch, while she was herself a towering jet-but-also-a-person, and ultimately came up short. Because why not, basically.

"There we are," Oor'un'xu breathed as he landed. He strode over to a bland, beat-up old case stacked by the nearest tree, unclasped the locks and dragged out a fearsome looking sniper rifle. There was nothing 'pretty' about it - just factory-built roughness, the skeleton of a long-ranged firearm entirely lacking its casing. There were a couple of notches scored halfway down the barrel. Kill-markers. "This here's the Alpha Graph-III. I was working on this back when I was a nest-confederate. Couldn't just leave it for the bootlickers when I broke rank, so... yeah."

"Looks like crap," Hawkmoon remarked - goodnaturedly, of course.

Oor'un'xu wagged a quadruply-segmented finger at her. "Don't diss, sweetheart. Doesn't suit you."

Hawkmoon harrumphed. "Let's see it roar, then. Go on."

"No patience," Oor'un'xu muttered. He loaded the rifle, clicked on its power generator and pressed the stock against his primary right shoulder. He fired - once. One of the distant targets he'd set up, a flimsy thing of twigs tied together with mossy twine, promptly exploded into charred splinters. Oor'un'xu lowered the gun and beamed. "So?"

"Looks okay," Hawkmoon mused.

"Okay? This beaut can pierce a Myodic hovertank's reinforced hide an entire city-state away. Leaves nothing but ashes when its done. It's the matrimony of Tai firepower and Eecharik intuition. There's nothing just 'okay' about it."

"How fast does it fire?"

Oor'un'xu hesitated. "It needs time to cool down every now and then," he reluctantly admitted, "so not fast-fast."

"Yeah, well, this does pretty good damage too," Hawkmoon unfolded her shoulder cannon, "and it's hooked up to my ventilation system already, so..."

"That's cheating," Oor'un'xu accused.

"No it isn't."

"Yes, it is. Did your 'humans' have weapons built into their bodies?"

Hawkmoon frowned. "No."

"See? Cheating."

"It's not cheating unless you lay out some actual rules first."

"Now where's the fun in that?"

Hawkmoon blinked. "That's..."

"Yeah?"

"That's poetic."

"I know, right?"

Úthaessel glanced between the two of them. "I don't follow."

Hawkmoon shrugged. "Don't worry about it. So, Oor, what's the basis of this game?"

"Shoot until you can't. You miss, you drink."

"I don't have enough to drink as is."

"Then don't miss? It's that easy!" Oor'un'xu scoffed. "What, did your 'humans' never play a game like this?"

"I mean, we had our own drinking games. Didn't mess around with guns so much when alcohol was involved, though. Not unless you were in secured territory and there weren't any civilians about."

"Like...?"

Hawkmoon rolled her optics. "Like Russian Roulette. But with five bullets in the chamber, not one. Just so there's a defined winner."

"Wait, what? What do you mean?

"It's... yeah, nevermind, that's probably not the garden-variety you're looking for." Hawkmoon made a show of considering the question. "I mean, we'd usually throw knives instead. Quieter, so less likely to draw Fallen or anti-fun Vanguard stooges. Less wasteful where ammunition was concerned, too. Knife-throwing was definitely all the rage for my gang. My extended gang, anyways. My normal gang were crap at it. Didn't stop them from trying, though."

All those lessons with Ikharos... those were good times. How he'd survived an entire Dark Age without picking up the skill of throwing something vaguely sharp with maybe a little accuracy just didn't sit right with her - and she knew his history. It hadn't been a clean one. Still, he'd gotten it sorta-down the last couple of times they'd played around with her kit. Blunted a few blades, sure, and she'd forced him to pay in glimmer for every knife broken, but definitely time well-spent on both their ends.

Jaxson, though. Now he'd been a lost cause from the beginning. The only thing he could throw was fists - but at least he was skilled at that. Good kid. Better Guardian. With some questionable tastes in attire, sure, because who on Earth wore pauldrons that big? Did nothing except hinder his peripheral vision. Some people...

Thinking about them just made the ache in her spark hit her harder. Hawkmoon deactivated her shoulder cannon and hesitated. Though about making up an excuse to leave and head back to the Scarlet Palace. Fall into Cyberwarp's arms and just stop thinking about everything.

"You're alright," Úthaessel whispered comfortingly - closer than Hawkmoon had realized, almost right by her audials. She could move as quietly as those guards of hers. "You are among friends."

Oor'un'xu was giving her a strange look. "Are you okay?"

"'M fine," Hawkmoon murmured. She unsubtly stepped away, to give herself space to breathe. Or... yeah. Something like that. "So we just shoot? In turns or at will?"

"In turns," Oor'un'xu reluctantly replied. He didn't look pleased that they were letting her momentary lapse in control just pass them by, but he didn't vocally oppose it, so... "'Sel? You want the next shot?"

Úthaessel started humming again, seemingly at peace with herself. It was almost infuriating - her level of self-control. Hawkmoon wanted that. Wanted it bad. Úthaessel wandered back, plucked up the old Tai long-barreled needle-beam rifle and brought it back to the edge of the cliff. She locked it against her shoulder, took aim and pressed her claw over the trigger. The charged-particle beam momentarily flashed out - and one of the targets burst into flame.

"Nice shot," Oo'un'xu praised.

"I was aiming for the other one." Úthaessel paused, tilting her head and frowning at them. "Was that… funny? I was trying for a jest, but I'm not sure if I-"

"Eh, you kind of ruined it," Hawkmoon told her. Past her, Oor'un'xu was ducking his head, cringing hard - and visibly straining not to let loose a giggle.

"I did?"

"Don't draw attention to your jokes. Let the subtlety do the talking."

"Applied delicately," Úthaessel mused. "I see."

Hawkmoon nodded, transformed her uninjured servo into a carbine and sliced one of the farther targets apart with a single burst. "There's an art to it."

"You didn't even look."

"Hm? Oh, yeah. Targeting matrix."

"Cheater," Oor'un'xu muttered darkly.

Hawkmoon stuck her glossa out at him. Aft-head.

Ideally, she should have had the basic sense of self-preservation to not play along with what came next, but Hawkmoon was a Hunter through and through - and while grumble she did, when Oor'un'u made something out to be a dare, it was physically impossible for her to not do it.

To think it had begun with them remembering that, yes, they did actually need to talk strategy, so we've killed one possibly-significant Hive pawn, where do we go next? The discussion had shifted to how Hawkmoon had killed the Warpriest (with great difficulty, she freely admitted) and then to the Nullblade. She'd asked after the Shadow-Emperor again. Úthaessel blatantly sidestepped the question and refocused the conversation on the foldblade itself. And Hawkmoon, with her normal sense of how-to-exist-smartly basically rendered zilch (she was on her fourth bottle out of a grand total of five, and quickly rediscovering that high-grade energon was potent stuff), went along with it. Even asked after the 'Tai pretend-fighting in the park'.

"We are dancers," Úthaessel readily told her. "The grace of bladework is important to us. It was with early versions of foldblades that the Tashibethii of old barred the Abalons from our nursery-roosts."

"Love the history lesson," Hawkmoon said, raising a servo to stop her there, "but I'm an uncultured plebian, so could you squish that down into something palatable?"

"It's... traditional," Úthaessel managed to chirp out. She was smiling - widely. There was something like a mix of victory and exasperation contorting her face in so many little ways, swimming in the searing light of her eyes. It was a little weird. "Shall I demonstrate?"

She pulled out another foldblade from within her robes. Then discarded her robes entirely, leaving her in a sleeveless vest of thin lamellar packed over yet more colourful silk. There were great slots in the back of it for her wings to flare through with ease. It looked like hell to get dressed in on a daily basis. Úthaessel drew out the foldblade's sharpened panels, hopped away from the cliff with a bounding leap and a couple of thunderous flaps of her wings, and she landed gracefully on one of the sea-stacks.

"That's an invitation," Oor'un'xu observed. "For a duel, I think. Go on, sky-runner, go get her."

"I'm not duelling," Hawkmoon grumbled

"Spar, then. I don't know - just whack her."

"I thought you were supposed to be loyal?"

"With the flat of the blade, of course!" Oor'un'xu said quickly. "Don't kill her. I'd appreciate 'Sel not being dead, thank you very much."

"But-" Hawkmoon shook her helm and reluctantly boosted out to an adjoining tower of weathered rock. The sea crashed against the base of the structure far below, dark and foreboding in the fading light of dusk. A fall would probably be fatal, even for her. She drew out her Nullblade, but abstained from switching it on. Úthaessel's own sword was deactivated as well.

"So what's this custom about?" Hawkmoon asked.

Úthaessel laughed. "For the simple joy of it! To move, to fight, to dance! Exertion! The beauty of the living form in motion! A test of one's own prowess, both physical and intellectual - are these not life's truest, simplest pleasures? Dance with me!"

She struck. Hawkmoon was hard pressed to defend herself, because Úthaessel was fast - faster than the Warpriest, faster than most everyone she'd ever crossed, and each motion was dealt with elegant poise and perfect form. Only a few seconds in and she knew the Tai was better than her, that the Emperor was perhaps the greatest duelist with a pointy-implement she'd ever met, and that was saying something - 'cause she'd fought at Twilight Gap and Mare Imbrium both, and neither the Hive nor the Fallen had been slacking in the swordcraft department.

Hawkmoon raised her Nullblade in a panic, and there was a terrific explosion of sparks as the Emperor's own foldblade clashed against her weapon, slid along its length, and slammed against her energy shield only to mercifully rebound away.

"Sweet fragging Primus," Hawkmoon swore, teetering back from the whirlwind of violence that had once been a mild-mannered bird. "What the slag is this?!"

Úthaessel paused, blade held aloft - right in the midst of a vicious downstrike that would probably have disarmed Hawkmoon in both meanings of the word. "Is something the matter?"

Hawkmoon skittered away, finally lost her balance and fell off her now very crowded rock - resorting to her thrusters to keep her aloft. She landed on a different sea-stack, just to give herself some room, and slowly, hesitantly shook her helm. "No, no, everything's fine, you can-"

Úthaessel suddenly soared towards her, wings flaring open - more of a blur to her optics than an actual person, spearing forth with single-minded intent.

"Whatthefuck-"

AN: Nomad Blue I choose you. You're awesome. Humongous thanks for the help!

This is a big chapter. I don't know how or why; it was supposed to be much shorter. I actually had to cut bits out because it dragged (and because it didn't feel right with the flow of things, so-). Like... what the hell. Also, thanks to bobha13, this fic now has a TV Tropes page! I'm still taken aback, 'cause this is a massively awesome development I did not see coming.

I'm just sat here with a massive grin now :)