Part 1: A Blade Dyed Red

Marco still remembered the first time he heard one of Osaza's visions. In a large tent, in a room filled with pillows, he waited with his mother for a visitor to arrive. She told him it was an important man who came from far away. She didn't know him, but trusted what she heard, and wanted Marco to trust it too. In the wilds, where people were as dangerous as the numerous magic beast, Osaza made Marco see the world. It wasn't just his visions; wasn't just the poetry spoken in the strange trance. Osaza didn’t look like a wilds tribesmen—slim instead, in flowing clothes that couldn’t hide a knife. He dressed brightly too, garbed in colors that reminded Marco of poisonous plants, but this man was neither plant nor poison. Osaza was like nothing he had ever seen, telling him the world had so much more. Maybe there were other settlements? Maybe there were places bigger than that? The man was there with info for his mother but gave him questions too. How big was the world? He still wanted to know. That girl, Kiara, made him wonder more. In this big world, what does it mean to be a monument? Back then, it was someone who could destroy the settlement. Right now? It was Cosette, and even the Battle Artist could see it.

The battlefield was still, except for her and the Gluttons. In black pants and vest over a white shirt, she found the spots between their blows, always managing to fill it. She didn't stay in one place. Each lumbering turn and graceless swing was too slow to even strike her shadow. Meanwhile, her attacks were too fast to miss. It wasn't simply the Gluttons' size that made them easy targets. The woman was never static; even her blades spinning. They tore gashes without a doubt, and Alexia glistened as she tried to keep up. Each wound burned energy to heal, pushing her breath and mind. When one closed, knives opened two more, trying to inject just one drop of blood. It was all she needed. Just a few broke the first Glutton, and the feedback left Alexia exhausted. They would lose this battle of attrition; Alexia was already sprinting toward her limits. Meanwhile, Cosette was cool. She sliced a leg open, making the creature kneel. She ran up its arm, turning her knife to its face. Marco couldn’t wait anymore.

He scurried up the wall faster than the mercenaries could follow, opening his dome as he drew closer. Bouncing up the arm he threw a punch, only for Cosette to turn her palm his way. It caused a sudden feeling he didn’t like. The hand was a rejection to the blood inside, sending him spinning back. He caught himself on the wall, but even the Battle Artist was surprised. It felt like his body had to run away. He needed to know if he could ever get close. From a dome on the wall, he shot back, kicking out as he forged it anew. When blood quivered, he dropped, swiping low. The woman skipped back, but he twirled to follow, swinging his legs as they moved up. She was fast on her feet, already moving as he flipped to his. Swipe. Swipe. He was grasping at air. She pointed at his head, but he spun to the side, bringing his hand around. She pushed it, and he swung the other way. Rather than duck back, she dove in. Marco skipped away, but she was there to stay. His arm chopped down as she went for his neck, and she caught it, giving it a pull. His exposed side was a shortcut to his heart. The Glutton moved, knocking them both from its arm. As he reached the floor, Marco breathed hard and heavy breaths.

“2000?” A question filled the air and made his head tilt. Two thousand as a question? What in lying vines did that mean? Cosette dodged a smash, and it clicked. It would take at least 2000 hits to get her out of the dome...

Part 2: A Skillful Hand

Elsewhere, the others didn't look back. When the door closed, their group broke off, following maps they kept in their heads. Diana went down a long narrow hall and threw open the doors of a ballroom. Sconces filled it with a warm orange glow; floor-to-ceiling windows gave audience to shrubs outside. In front of one of them, her target stood. Marianne was not as old as Diana expected, looking much closer to her age. The woman had short brown hair that was wavy at its ends. She stood in what looked like a school uniform—frilly plum top, with a seafoam ribbon and basil slacks. As the door closed, she turned, revealing jade eyes with a scar underneath the right. They widened. She frowned. And finally, her brow furrowed as Diana moved to the center of the room.

“So you put me under a witch’s compulsion then?” Her furrow deepened. “And being aware of it doesn’t break it? I should have expected this of Diana Fillmore, but I never expected I’d meet you.”

“Diana Fillmore?” Diana shook her head. “I don’t know if you’ve heard, but I don’t go by that name anymore.”

“And yet…” Marianne stepped away from the window. “To go to witches to isolate your enemies...it’s a very Fillmore thing to do.” She watched the redhead frown. “Or do you object?” Her furrow stayed, but a smile crept onto her face.

“I don’t.” Diana sighed. “But coming to someone’s aid, isn’t. You can call me by the Fillmore name, but at least acknowledge my differences.”

Marianne clicked her tongue. “I always wondered what type of person you were. To leave all that behind and get a number put on your head. I thought you might be out to change the world, but you’re still the same girl aren’t you?”

“We don’t know each other. Does it matter if I answer?”

“I suppose not. The color of your heart doesn’t change what we have to do.”

“But do you have to do this? Is the pay worth Pialla’s life? You seemed to hate the Fillmore name, but your actions suggest we might be related.”

“Don’t make me spit! We’re doing this for a good cause!”

“You’re planning to kidnap a girl for someone she’s avoiding!”

“We’re giving up one life to make millions better!”

“And how are you going to do that?”

Marianne gaped. "By giving people back a hero they need. The Expanse will have strength, and families like the Fillmore and the Belling will fall. Without them in the way, the Green Lands will get better."

“And without them, you mercenaries are out of a job. You’ll forgive me if I don’t believe there's noble intention.”

“Mercenaries? Is that what you were told to get you involved? We’re freedom fighters! We stand for those who have been wronged!”

“Except for one innocent girl?”

“It’s unfortunate, but we have to use these tricks if we want to win the most important fight.”

“I definitely get it...When you think you’re making the right choice, it’s easy to justify the sacrifice. But you can’t even comprehend how much that fight won’t even be a schoolyard brawl.”

Marianne scoffed. “So says the girl who has never truly seen Nithellan.” She ran a finger across her scar. “But we knew there would be no compromise the moment I saw your face.”

Diana nodded, her footing shifting along the path of her mind. She didn't think she was deceived; the Blulate's and their allies truly didn't know. A band this big and cruel seemed like mercenaries from a distance. Even before she ran away, she had never heard of freedom fighters. She supposed that meant Marianne was right, but it didn't mean that she was wrong. Sacrificing Pialla's freedom wasn't going to win the battles that mattered. Diana hadn't truly seen Nithellan, but it was clear Marianne hadn't either. They were two girls watching from different angles, and there was so much to miss. Nithellan and the Expanse weren't even in the purview of this fight. The Green Lands didn't matter, only Pialla did, and the redhead came here knowing precisely that. She was always going to try, but she knew futility when she saw it. Marianne came too far to go back and hadn't seen a misstep along the way. Once again, Diana put her homeland behind her. If the woman hadn't seen an error before, she was about to see it now.

Diana charged, and Marianne stomped. Spikes erupted from the floor, but the redhead weaved, even as they moved. Her fist glowed and struck empty air as its target slid aside. An arm blade appeared, purple like the spikes, with an eerie dark glow. With a twirl, it cut across Diana's shirt. Her stomach was safe, but not for long, as Marianne sliced again. The redhead bobbed away. The blade followed weightlessly, and she stayed on the move, watching shifting eyes as they found new targets. A vertical slice sunk into her forearm, and she thundered away as the pain flashed cold. She needed a moment to think, but spinning saws had her trapped. They were the spikes from before, making a ring. Marianne wore a creeping smirk.

“Razor Stinger.” Another blade grew from her left arm. “Razor Stride.” They grew along the soles of her shoes. For a moment, Diana saw Marianne in the fields, sliding across dirt and grass like ice. The moment died; the woman slicing forward.

Her movements were death in the guise of grace. With practiced ease she slid up, entering a rapid spin. Her blades fell short as Diana leaped back, but she followed with a step and kicked her leg high. The collar split, but the girl dashed again. Rather than pursue, Marianne twirled. “Razor Wire.” From an outstretched foot, a wire swung around the ring. It cut so fast, the light was severed; Diana dodging it with a punch to the air. As she landed, things became clear. Marianne’s first attack was the set-up for this spell.

How many foes fell to that trap? How many came apart to that elegant whirl? It struck Diana that a web ran through the floor. Each motion was a movement of body and magic. It wasn't a ring, but a rink and no one was safe while Marianne stood inside. It didn't help that she used Cutting Magic. Each cut made the next one sharper. On the plus side, that was only case by case. The woman cut enough to slice through photons, but flesh and bone were relatively safe. Diana just had to keep things up.

“You seem surprised, Diana Fillmore, but I’ve been fighting since before you ran away from home. I have grown through constant battles. How many have you seen?”

The question took her back to the Blue Peaks a month ago. Her Wanderer's Notebook sang in her mind, and she opened it to a message from Keigo. How strong do you think you are? It came at just the right time. Her sister was nearby, but within a place that loomed imposingly ahead. A Magic Brigade Outpost threatened with its presence alone. The message confirmed her thought—she made it as far as she could. “Not strong enough.” She answered back, and could almost see Keigo’s smile in his response. Meet me and Danson in the Calm Lands, we're about to get a lot stronger. She departed the Blue Peaks with a new goal in mind. She'd get strong enough to stroll right in.

“Not enough.” She said back. “But I plan to see many more.” She clutched her fist and settled her stance. For Pialla and herself, this was a battle she would win.

She raced back in, and immediately bobbed another high kick. She weaved the one that cut down after; diving in under a sudden chop. Her target moved with a snap to the side, but she kept her fingers glowing as a leg spun around. The twirl died as Diana tapped it, and the woman stumbled as the girl stepped in.

“Striker Crack.”

It hit the face, the next crashing hard against the chest. The first sent Marianne reeling back. Her flailing arms cued the second. What followed from three came with fury—a bombardment battering the woman’s body. Punctuated with another Striker Crack, it sent her sliding back. Diana felt what she was looking for though. There was feedback when a Battle Effigy was overtaxed, a feeling quite like punching a stream. Marianne could take eight consecutive hits. Diana drank a potion and clenched her fist tight. She'd land her spells on the ninth. She just had to stay close. Thunder drove her forward and Marianne raised her hands.

“Razor Cobras.” Six blades coiled out from her back. Held by tethers, they snapped at the girl.

Diana exploded to a quick stop, pedaling back as they snapped again. Their pursuit was relentless—heads swiping with blind hunger. She dipped and ducked, dodging close shaves. One slipped past, stabbing into the floor. She didn't miss the zigzag of magic racing up its body, but seeing it did no good. Marianne flew with the tether. Diana cried out as a blade passed through her side. A cobra bit and she punched herself away, only for others to jump at her face. Her arms came up; blades wrote from wrist to elbow. Still, a kick pushed her further, and still, Marianne pursued. A cobra swung down and Diana rolled aside. One lanced toward her, but she stopped in time. Another snapped the other way. She was at the center of a sling. With a leg held high, Marianne came. Diana felt the breath of death but dodged all the same. Suddenly, the trajectory changed with the cutter tossed in the air. The cobras speared down and Diana pointed up.

“Striker Shot!” It hit Marianne's chin, and every head lurched back. “Shooting Strike!” Diana took off on a red trail, striking with her knee. She twisted, swinging her leg around. “Striker Crash!” The floor splintered as the woman hit it. Diana dropped to join her.

As the cobras pushed Marianne up, the brawler didn't stop. She didn't let them snaking forward stop her either. They stabbed and she took them in her right arm. Grabbing their tethers, she reeled Marianne in, despite her tearing palm. She knocked the light from her eyes, letting the cobras pull back. A spearing kick hit, forcing the air from the lungs. Diana stayed in the body. Right hook. Punctuate with a knee! As Marianne toppled back, a jab flew forward.

“Striker Crack!”

Rib folded as the woman flew. She skipped across the floor. Blood poured from her mouth when she breathed. Marianne looked at Diana as she wiped it from her face. The girl poured two potions down her throat. The holes in her arm healed, but the skin was pale—the process clearly painful.

“Do you think drinking potions and tonics will help you win.” Her voice was hoarse, she'd need a healer after this.

Diana shook her head. “All it has to do is keep me alive.” The girl stepped forward, and Marianne's eyes lingered on her arm.

They had the same thought. Potions and Tonics didn't heal things freely, they burned the aura to cast a spell. The power of Diana's magic would suffer. That arm had become a liability. Marianne's eyes said it: You think that's going to keep you alive? I'll make sure it's your undoing. Diana lifted the arm, a closed fist aimed forward. Come and get it, it said in response, and the woman rose with poise. Her chest heaved heavily. The effigy might have undone the broken chin, but those ribs were all her own. Between the effort of breathing, and the number of times Diana was cut, the end of this battle was near. The next exchange would likely decide it, and neither of them was willing to lose.

“Razor Dancer.” The cobras twitched and bulged, their tethers growing to resemble arms. Marianne took a deep breath despite her chest and slid in. Diana dashed to meet her.

Things opened with a rapid spin—a glorious whirl of shredded death. Diana bounced back, and then to the side, bringing her finger up. The Striker Shot came; Marianne stopped and fired a spear. The girl pulled away, but it sliced her cheek. She skipped the other way, and another scratched her neck. A barrage flew. Evasive actions saved her but gave the woman a chance to move in. The redhead was frozen—there were too many to dodge. She dropped the shot between them instead. It was like crashing into a blow head-on, and Marianne took it in her shattered chest. She hacked and Diana kicked. It was stopped on a raised shin. It didn’t feel great but she took her chance, slicing for the girl’s leg. Diana leaped back with a punch, then dashed back in. She paid for it with a spear through her stomach; effigy stealing the wound. She couldn’t take another of those, but Marianne had no plans to give it. She stomped and the saws took flight, turning their rink into a tower. From all of her arms, wires stretched out, and Diana’s heart went still.

“Shooting Strike!” She moved like cannon fire as the woman stood on one foot. This was the end, whether she liked it or not. There would be no time for nine different hits, she would barely have time for one. With the momentum of Shooting Strike, she had to finish this. She had to deplete the effigy, not just overtax it. Her right arm was still burnt out, so she’d approach with Marianne to her left. As the magic coursed like blood, it was almost like she was taken back. She remembered the first time she ever cast a spell.

“Striker Magic will always convert the full force of your strike into magical energy. It doesn’t matter how big or small it is. If you want to make the spell stronger, you want to cast it in layers. Aim for three and remember your spell words.” One of the older actresses offered to teach her. “When you’re confident at three, aim for five, and remember to give it a flashy name.” It wasn’t merely that her arm was glowing. It felt more like her arm became the magic. “Put your shoulder into it too!”

“Striking Bolt!” Momentum. Shoulder. Body. Knowledge. With everything she could grab in those few seconds, Diana threw her fist. The whirl began, and as the wire came close, she made contact. It was like a raging thunderstorm rolled from her elbows to her knuckles. She hammered Marianne’s face—impact launching them both back.

It took a Striker Stream for her to crash gracelessly. Marianne didn’t even get half of that. The blow knocked her consciousness free, and the saws came undone. The woman followed them, as she hit the wall. The effigy absorbed the damage, but not enough for her to rise. She hit the floor with her eyes wide open, and Diana wobbled to her feet with a smile on her face.

“Five?” She grinned. “I guess seven is a bit much.” Her arm stung, but that was fine. She'd master five, then seven would be a breeze…