The Rares exited Minister Beantim's estate. The sky above Old Archens had turned red from the fires blazing in the background that robbed the world of majestic structures constructed eons ago. Two years. Less than that, since Part 2 Chapter 3 had been added after launch. An unthinkable loss.

Looters, who were Deserters with daggers and Flood icons, confronted the officers. “'The city descends into chaos. The hero rushes to the Ministry to assist Havamal and restore order.'”

“Go Havamal!”

“You can go ahead and build a shrine to him if you want. We don't need any Infernos right now. Quick Howling!”

An efficient division of labor followed. Vinnette healed. Tramda killed everyone. Ulrik used their daggers to build the Throne of Daggers for the foremost idol of the Reaper world, Havamal. “The five spears arrayed behind it represent his five active skills,” he informed the party.

As they penetrated deeper into the city, Archens Rebels joined the Looters and spurred Ulrik to get back to work. “I've been analyzing your fighting,” Ipons Ulsrada said after a few waves, “and I really think you'd be better off with AoE actives and an ST Nova for bosses.”

“Do you?”

“I do.”

“All right.”

The Rares battled through another wave in silence. Afterwards, Tramda Olex brought up a topic to Ulrik which Clyse and Vinnette dared not. “Aren't you going to give him a wedgie? Plant him in the ground and use his neck as a tee? Tell him to shut up? Anything?”

“Who, me?”

“Shut up.”

“My plan is this. First, I write down his suggestion.”

“I got it so far.”

“Second, I sew it into my clothing and pray every day that I get an alt with that kind of Skill Star.”

Vinnette Melban raised her caduceus in salute at that declaration, but Clyse asked, “What if you're a Strategist or a Medic?”

“Mentor Tendradius Pux. Darlotte Glofal.”

“I see you've thought about this a lot.”

Tramda shook her head. “At least shove him a little bit.” Ulrik did as he was bidden. “You shoved him out of the way of a Rebel! Fine, be that way.”

“I don't really get what's going on, but thanks!”

The Looters became fewer and fewer as the Rares approached the steps of the Ministry. “Oh, this must be the next part I'm supposed to read. Uh, 'The hero reaches the Ministry. Lord Protector Havamal and the loyal ministers have barricaded themselves inside. He attacks Minister Beantim and his chief bodyguard. That's the boss fight. In the middle of the fight, Havamal emerges from the building and contributes as a sixth party member. Beantim and Keubil haven't shown up for Recruitment even though Havamal doesn't execute them in the story, which compels me to speculate they're saving them for an event the same as they did with Gintus Pelluina.' That's all there is for this chapter. Oh, no, wait, there's a bit at the bottom. 'To Ipons Ulsrada. Stop showing up to sessions and posing where you think the camera might be instead of performing the exercises.' I'll just ignore that part though.”

“And the fight, too. We've taken off two bars already. Get in here!” Ipons hustled over at Tramda's command and start slashing the Quake Rebel Bodyguard with his ruler, leaving the Storm half of the twin replacement bosses to the non-Floods. What powers had they at their beck and call? The swords, shields, and shining metal armor of the Bodyguards might have belonged to any class, but implied Champion.

“Yeow! Help me, Vinvin!”

The critical hit against Tramda Olex supported that implication and exposed the pathetic Parry stat of the typical non-Champion. The Cadmoses, True Beryllias, King Ostroses, and even Clyses and Quilles of the world strode through those chapters without even realizing critical hits were something enemies could do. Far from that, their Parries exceeded the opposition's Critical Chance and created a chance for enemies to do less damage rather than more.

The inevitable result was that Tramda jumped on Clyse like a backpack and shot psychically manipulated elemental energies over her shoulder. “That doesn't really substitute for Taunt. Wait, or does it? I'm not sure I've ever seen it done before, or read about it, and where would you read about stuff like that? Let's start a new magazine!”

“I don't believe it works, Ipons. See? They're attacking past me right now. Promotional Campaign! All right, Tramda. They're all nice and Taunted. You can climb down now.”

“Don't wanna!”

Vinnette Melban waved a lollipop behind Clyse's back till Tramda finally climbed down to take it. “There, there,” Vinnette said.

Meanwhile, the battle raged and waxed in the raging. “Two bosses! Flames of Dovesk! A superbly designed fight.”

“Does this mean my skill advice turned out to be no good?”

“It means all skills should be AoEs with ST modifiers. Dennet! Start a petition.”

“On it. Oh, but should I add in that Rare ought to be the highest rarity because we have the fewest officers, and that enemies should be a special variant of Eclipses that don't get bonuses against any element?”

“New Moons. Yes.”

“Maybe I should request a collab in here while I'm at it.”

“No. Demand they put us in other games.”

“Good point. Anything else? Clyse? Vinnette? Tramda? Rebel Bodyguard?”

The two boss stars filled simultaneously, the words “Sting of Rebellion” flashed under their bars, and they struck at Clyse with all their might.

“OK, so cutins for boss Novas, right? Got it. I can type this up when we get back to Freegate and collect signatures at Reginald's thingies.”

“Oh no you can't,” Clyse said. “Not without a contract. And fees.”

“Sorry about pointing this out, but as long as you do that stuff in the main hall, you have no way to stop Dennet or anybody else from doing anything. Those are the rules! I could take pictures if I had a camera, but I don't yet, but Lasva does, and then she can interview you and take all your quotations out of context. She's done it before!”

“You're right!” Ipons Ulsrada's terrifying speech stunned Clyse and discombobulated her so thoroughly that she forgot to use Promotional Campaign on cooldown till Tramda tapped her with a lollipop and recalled her to her senses. “The scandal could sink us unless we come up with a media management strategy.”

“Clyse. Listen to me.” Tramda tapped her again for emphasis. “There are a hundred officers or so. We've all seen your dumb mystical fad nonsense. Nobody's getting sunk by anything. Breathe. And Taunt.”

“123 . . .”

“And 122 of them despise Lasva,” Ulrik said. “Not all of them hate her, but they definitely despise her.”

“Hey, I like Lasva just fine!” Ipons Ulsrada's ruler traced circles in the air. “I think she's kinda bad at her job and makes up a lot of what she writes, but she's not a bad person, or too bad a person, or a villain anyway.”

“I feel the same about you, Ipons.”

“Thanks, Ulrik! Am I bad at my job, though? I didn't think I was.”

“Have you ever done it? What buildings have you designed? The one that burns down all the time? The cause is probably faulty wiring. Are you responsible? Inferno Strike!” A nitpicker might have observed that all the elemental abilities flying around might have had something to do with all the burning buildings and pointed to the Archens background as proof, but Saptres Muria was somewhere far away.

“Gosh, I don't know. I guess I might be a terrible architect and not realize it. What if that's my backstory, that I was run out of town because of my bad buildings, and then there's an event about it and I'm in the event? That would be amazing!”

“No fair! Why can't I be a failed architect? My backstory is that I got captured by pirates once! That's it! Quick Howling!”

Tramda expressed her umbrage against the Rebel Bodyguards, who died unable to utter a single complaint about their own station as replacement bosses. If anything, that saved them from a harsher beating. Misery hates competition.

“These weren't too hard, but they can't compare to Captain Gromlin when it comes to outcome for effort. I advise going back a chapter.”

“Ipons. You may be a lousy architect.”

Ipons Ulsrada waited for Ulrik to finish, and several seconds later prompted, “But?”

“No.”

“Oh.”

Mummy killers crept through the keep, though once they made it inside the creeping became unnecessary. “A UR is hardly going to say, 'Caught you sneaking in! Must have been exploiting a bug! I'll report it, I will,' is he?”

The infiltrators kept their composure and therefore stopped short of the ceiling and even managed not to fall over when their feet returned to the floor. “Ebulan Prav! You startled me.” Quille Treten wiped his forehead with a convenient strip of cloth.

“You have a fine trophy there. Wrappings fit for a general. Are you trying to be caught? Put that away.”

“Yes, quite right, Strategist. Lost my head for a bit there. Though, what are you two doing here? More than two, in fact.” Ebulan Prav and Saptres Muria stood outside the main hall alongside most of the Rares for unfathomable reasons.

“Having a look, of course,” Ebulan explained. “We've got a right. Feast your peepers on what's transpiring in there if you have a moment.”

Quille's Trial crew leaned over and saw dozens of officers in rows with Lua DeMereanch (summer installment) leading them in an all-new routine to the accompaniment of a pitched-up Reginald. “Tide in . . . tide out . . . breathe in . . . breathe out . . . the moon in the waters . . . the seas of the moon . . .”

“Freegate's turning into a veritable SHTTL,” Ebulan said.

“A what?”

Burmin Trivvis said, “Styleful Happy!! To the Live, I think?”

Ebulan removed his headwear and held it in his hands, looking down at it and fidgeting. “That's it, only I don't like to say so, on account of pronouncing two exclamation points is a bit beyond me.”

The Rares pulled back. “Ever and ever more popular, eh?” said Stan.

Hyune Giling pushed up his glasses. “Perhaps too popular for Clyse's taste. She will find it difficult to monetize something that is adopted so widely and freely. Opinions, Saptres Muria?”

“Agreed. Reginald is happy to help anyone who seems enthusiastic. Otherwise she could charge prospective routine leaders for consultation and support. Your thoughts, Ipons Ulsrada? Ipons? Ulsrada?”

Dennet pointed inside the main hall, and the Rares who leaned over to look caught Ipons Ulsrada making a circuit of the participants and stopping next to each of them in case the camera happened to be focused there.

The Rares pulled back again. “Night means there's nobody watching, right?” Burmin Trivvis said, unsure of his own understanding.

“Many generals have thought such, moments before the ambush.”

Burmin opened his mouth to continue the conversation, but lost interest when he heard clopping. He and the other Rares spread out and started whistling and juggling scimitars, the normal activities in which officers who would never exploit anything engaged.

“Oh man oh man, I'm so late. Are you guys late too? Hey, I recognize you. You're the table legs! No wonder you're here, you must feel like you got to relax sometimes, really unwind. Same here, but that chick they got for the recording with the hot voice kinda winds me up at the same time, you know what I'm saying? Haha, keep up the good work!” Dasher Christmas winked at each of them one by one and trotted into the hall.

The Rares walked back to their lounge. “I hope those higher rarities can learn to relax like me,” Tramda said.

“Uh, yeah, Tramda, for sure.” Only Dennet managed to say anything in response, if “anything” described that response.

“What this base needs,” Quille Treten opined, “is warmth and generosity. The lack of those is what makes us anxious.”

“I couldn't agree more, I absolutely couldn't, but we all know what you're going to say, and you are not getting an alt this Christmas.”

“Not this Christmas, certainly. Need more experience with sleighs.” He shook imaginary reins for emphasis, and the other officers allowed that they had never seen him in a sleigh. They also said they never would, but the future is never so easy to view as that.