Morgan hit the ground separate of Soira. Usually, her magic shell would protect her from a level of physical impact, but with her seither ran dry, she had no cushion apart from her body. She broke her fall with the stronger deformed right side of her shoulder. Even then, a 2-storey drop from a running tackle would knock anyone's wind out, and she gasped desperately for air as the oxygen left her lungs on impact.

Get up. She had to get up. Her mind was yelling at her as she raised her head to see Soira lying a short distance away, unmoving.

Maybe it was safe? Was her opponent down? Something was still telling her to stand. The hairs on the back of her neck were at full mast, screaming that she was but prey in a hunter's crosshair.

There was a loud crunch to her side and she turned to the see the armadillion armour had also jumped out the window and landed beside her. The weapon began stalking beast-like towards Soira, and Morgan desperately pushed to her feet.

While she got up, panting, she watched as the armour wrapped itself around around Soira's unconscious body, opening up its scales to engulf the mayor as if eating the person whole with its body to become some kind of iron-man.

Then, a gasp of breath came from the mayor. It seemed the man had indeed died in the fall, but the armour had somehow revived him. That wasn't good, because Morgan was barely standing, out of magic, and sans weapon. The armoured man then quickly got to his feet, as if all the injuries incurred had not happened.

Morgan gasped for air, moving her mutated arm to be in front like a shield.

It was then she noticed Soira's eyes were glazed over, as if he was still unconscious. If that's the case, how was he moving? Was the armour moving him?

‟I can give you the world,” Soira's lips moved, but the voice that came out of it was rasped, like air forced out of a tube. ‟Morganna Dresden. I can give you anything you want.”

‟Moira, I presume?” Morgan replied to what she guessed was the so called god of destiny. ‟What if I want you to shut up?”

Moira lurched forward at an inhuman speed, and Morgan just barely raised her arm up in time to block the two claws that slammed into her, the metal tips an inch away from piercing her face.

She tried to push again the mayor, but the armour had increased the man's strength. Instead, the man jumped, tucked his knees in, and kicked her square in the chest.

Morgan yelled as a rib cracked and she was sent flying into the wall of the house, her back slamming into the brick and herself slumping onto her hip, leaning against the wall to prevent herself from falling over. She was not sure if she went down again she would have the strength to be able to get back up.

And again, the man rushed her. Again, she managed to block his claws with her arm. This time though, she reached back and pulled out the dark magic wand from her waist.

Moira hissed. ‟What do you expect to do with an empty wand?”

She grunted, ‟It's a pointy stick.”

Her fingers flipped the wand and without hesitation, Morgan raised the stick and stabbed it into Soira's right eye.

The man shouted in pain and released Morgan, stepping away from his assailant while covering his bleeding eye.

Moira's voice was gone and Soira's rough growl came through. ‟You whore!”

‟That's a new insult,” Morgan admitted. She had been called many things, but a 'whore' was usually reserved for someone with a more traditionally 'beautiful' face.

‟Morgan!”

She looked up in time to catch her sword, thrown down by Sherl. The detective's face then quickly disappeared from the broken window.

‟Don't get cocky just because you have a weapon now!” Soira yelled.

‟What about two more?”

They turned to the voice to see Merylin on the street. From behind her back and under her cape, she drew two machetes into her hands.

Morgan smiled. ‟You're late.”

‟Sorry. Doctor Watson's a slow runner.”

Together, the two knights rushed Soira, Merylin a little faster on the charge than Morgan. A soft glow took over the mayor's body and his one good eye glazed over again, giving control over to Soira.

Merylin came in with two quick cuts that were easily parried by the super armoured, god-powered serial killer. As a set of claws came aiming for her heart, she pulled her machete up to catch the fingers and twisted the strike aside. With her free hand, she struck down at Soira's arm, attempting to cut it, but was disrupted by a hop and dropkick that pushed her away with the same force it had landed on Morgan a moment earlier.

From behind, Morgan limped in and tried to strike at their opponent while they were recovering from the dropkick, only to be nonchalantly swept aside by a push from the armadillion's tail, as if she was just a piece of paper in the wind.

Morgan realized was too weak to move with any force. Even with her sword back, her lack of magic bound her. Unlike Merylin, who was trained specifically in non-magical combat, her lessened expertise in the area made her far too liable. She needed a different plan, a different strategy.

‟Isn't this fun!” Soira yelled, his voice interlaced with Moira's as he thrusts pierce after piercing claws towards Merylin. ‟Come on! Bring on more knights! Let me dance with you!”

The old knight parried blow after blow. Age had weakened her muscles, but strengthened her soul. Even in the face of verbal abuse and intense combat, she managed to keep her calm. She was looking for an opening. The Ex Machina armour covered the entirety of Soira's back, reeling the only open path to be a frontal assault. The face was the weakest, a large opening on both cheeks only slightly covered by the armadillion's 'nose', like a faceplate. The belly would also make a possible striking point, the scales shifting magically to accommodate its wearer's movements. She would have to time it when his guard was down and chest boasted out, for that's when the scales seemed to be at it widest apart.

Merylin struck for the head, slashing both blades down in opposite direction for each side, forcing Soira to block with both arms. Her blades slid down the middle. She rearranged herself and thrust. But since the machetes were not made for piercing, the points were not sharp enough to penetrate the armour, sticking into the scales with a clink instead.

Soira brought both arms down and slammed into Merylin's shoulders, putting her on her knees. He then grabbed her head and kneed her in the face, sending the old knight back with a broken, bloody nose.

‟Come on! Keep going! Is that all you've got?” The killer took a confident step back and raised his arms wide in taunt. ‟I'm still not having enough fun!”

Then, a sword came from the side, went through his ribs, and up into his heart and lungs. An absolute fatal blow. He coughed, stunned at the weapon's sudden appearance. He looked down to find Merylin still prone on the floor with her nose dripping red. Then his gaze shifted to the side to find Morgan standing calmly next to him. Detective Sherl Octavia had come out of his house, staggering and gripping an injury in her left arm, though grinning at the outcome.

With the last breath in his one good lung, Soira asked, ‟How?”

Morgan was tired, panting, bleeding and sweating. But nevertheless, she answered, ‟You were having too much fun.”

She pulled her sword out, and sensing its master's death, the armour fell off Soira's back and sprawled open on the ground like the moulted carapace of a spider. The scales then began retracting, closing up as the armour clinked back into the shape of a large armadillion. Finally it curled itself into a roll like a pillbug - its dormant form - and stopped all movements.

Soira fell to his knees. The glow of Moira in his eye was beginning to fade.

Morgan explained, ‟You just wanted the thrill, didn't you? Even duringthe interrogation you said you were just looking for fun. I thought you were just mad, but that's genuinely all that's in your mind.” She stepped in front of her as a judge and placed the tip of her sword on the side of his neck. ‟So I made myself 'not fun'. Walked quietly over, no hostility whatsoever, and you didn't even notice me.”

‟That's... bull...” He swore.

Blood was spat.

She raised her sword.

Offed his head.

All went dark.

Then, light.

There was voice. ‟Hello, Morganna Dresden.”

She found herself in a white void, her wounds healed, with none of the pain in her body left. Was she dead? Unconscious? No. She looked down and her right arm was normal skin, her mutation gone. She raised her hand to her face and felt her cheeks. Smooth. Uncrusted. But she recognised the contours of her knuckles as a mirror of her left hand.

‟Now then...” Suddenly, standing before her in the white void was another figure.

It was herself, though the precise opposite of her miraculous cure of mutation. Her entire body was mutated over with the hardened skin instead of just the right side. The cracked ear when doubled, looked almost like horns.

Morgan's mind turned. ‟You must be the Moira.”

‟Indeed.” Watching her own face speak to her was unnerving, but even more so were the slightly stilted, unnatural expressions forced on by a god. ‟Let us speak.”