(Curator POV)

A symphonious serenade of shrieking steel sonorously stole the surrounding stability. Forever staining the very fabric of this room's existence, akin to a vibrant dash of red below an ocean’s blue. Smothering all other murderous melodies under its weight, abandoning them to mere gasps below the din.

A testament to the golden girl’s efforts to surmount an idiotic family’s handiwork. Bringing to mind an old adage of prisons working both ways. Can’t have people cutting the Imprisoned out of that tin can now, can we?

Sadly none of the Ainsleys ever stopped to think about the obvious flaw in giving a criminal near-indestructible armor. Short-sighted, which at this point, I believe all Ainsleys are.

I’ve seen that girl act. Now imagine an entire clan of those knight-errant gremlins!

You fool. You always asked ‘if it could be done!’ But never stopped to ask ‘if it should be done!’

Moving on. Goddamn Aisnlys.

Sly, cunning. I would probably throw in more adjectives, but Su and Gen were deadset on destroying silly things like the human limit.

Overall Gen lacked Su’s technical know-how, but his sharpened wit matched the retired assassin’s instinct tit for tat. Keeping the angered serial killer from separating him at the neck.

Shadows obscured by screens of dust, silhouettes dancing on the wind. Untethered by reality, they pirouetted to the imagination. Damned, be to anyone who would call such techniques beyond human comprehension.

Last but not least, let’s be honest, watching the alchemist trio and the others deal with mooks isn’t all that interesting, was our evanescent general and her elusive scoundrel of the night, Lady Terri.

Froth with tension, each swing of the blade or flicker of magic narrowly missed each other’s throats. Stuck in their own world, the general’s icy demeanor and Falshani’s burning hatred stirred and mixed into an exquisite cocktail whose potency would put vodka to shame.

Ah, and the ever-blazing topic of discrimination added that final kick to the drink.

My musings aside, Lady Terri and, by extension, the Falshani certainly are interesting folk. Despite being called false witches, they’re actually more akin to shrine maidens in how they dispense magic. Look at Lady Terri now, for instance.

Her gems burned radiantly as the dancer drew upon their deluge of elemental energy to fuel her magic. Not unlike Tsukiko with elemental crystals or Zhenya with her arms. More skilfully than the latter and in far more excess than the former.

The best of both worlds, channeled into and through her war chakrams. Only deepening my curiosity as that was reminiscent of witches and their potions.

Really, distilling all this down. Meant overwhelming force was being thrown Antonia’s way. Only to find the general unyielding, weaving and deflecting the onslaught with nary a break in visage.

...On that note. “Hey, Head. Does Falshani mean anything to you?”

“Eh? Nothing specific.” My Co-core’s flat answer came after a brief pause. Dealing with a whole war front took most of his focus, leaving this meager sliver to answer my question. If the lack of sass is any indication.

“Their origins begin in the Dutchy, most likely an off shot of the witches we know today, cousins if you will. As the alchemist explained. The Falshani were persecuted as false prophets around the same time witches rose to religious prominence.

As popular belief would have it. Because damned be actual recorded history.” Ah ha! I knew there was still some Head in there. “Before the first witch ascended, she and another would-be goddess, a Falshani, competed to see who could reach the moon first.

As is usual with these hamfisted stories. The first witch emerges victorious taking her place on the moon while her competitor is outed as a lying snake. Although, I wouldn’t put much stock in it. No actual historical records verify this children’s fairytale. But the religious zealots on the other hand...”

His piece said, Head quieted like a thief in the night. Returning to conspicuously aiding the rebel cause. That being said, he was working through my core to control our forces.

Head's too proud to admit it. But he has difficulties controlling multiple creatures. Another difference in specialization, I suppose.

Directing actors is in my blood. Whereas Head heavily relies on his creature’s autonomy and core, using it as a catalyst to convey direct commands.

The more Dp he can output, the more creatures he can influence. Or at least that was the gist of it. Anything else was lost on me. All technical babble and jargon.

Despite his best efforts, completing our list of objectives seemed grim. Mainly the second one. Getting the knights, preferably the golden girls and associates, out alive.

With the Imprisoned shrugging off their blows, it was only a matter of time before the pair ran out of steam.

Other than that, the first was slowly easing the rebels toward our core without spooking Antonia’s forces into doing anything rash, like blowing this place sky-high.

But regardless, the chip-tune of conflict carried on. Unaware, its orchestrater and audience were stolen by a soft whistle. Quiet but distinct, even the Imprisoned could not ignore its presence.

Knocking away the golden girls once again, the rebel leader's gaze turned skyward, following seven meteors descending into my dungeon. The first to land carried a dreadful aura causing the criminal to charge forth without a second thought, leaving Zhyena and Fredrica just befuddled as we cores.

Once the dust settled, any unlucky rebel near site zero felt fear’s grip. Starting at eye level and craning upwards following the figures’ towering form rise to full height. Unharmed despite defying all laws of physics that would have Head ranting if he wasn’t also caught off kilter.

Fredrica’s father. The knight who bade her dreams remain just that. And from the looks of it, the apple did not fall far from the tree. Not in the looks department, mind you. He was completely covered, but anyone could tell that father and daughter shared a very peculiar taste in armor.

Seriously!? Where is this damned obsession with making armor look like mech suits coming from?!

That being said, the man was obviously taller than his progeny. At full height, he even eclipsed the iron giant there.

I’m suddenly feeling a whole lotta respect for this man’s horse. At the same time, the striking resemblance his suit bore to our rebel leader’s did not evade my notice.

Both were clad in curtains of plated steel which would crumple the average warrior.

Whereas the other was designed to be bulky and cumbersome, Freddie’s father’s was streamlined. Despite being heavily set, there was a leanness to its make. Offering a sense of litheness to the ensemble while remaining sturdy and enduring.

Cracking crystal underfoot, several more reinforced knights rose before both groups.

Equally as intimidating, sporting similar armor only with a few decals and accessories differentiating them.

Donning helms of various visors. While lower past their pauldrons sat a palisade of thick steel that would not look out of place in a defensive encampment. Baring stylized images of the Dutchy’s emblem at the forefront, the flourishes distinguished their knight order and houses.

The Asnisly house being of a crossed hammer and pick held together by a flame comprised of a purple metal.

Considering their boosted height, the waist is where most people would be hitting. Designed to withstand the sharpest blades and, to a lesser degree, the heaviest of instruments. While the upper half of this walking fortress was built to withstand point-blank blasts from a canon without buckling.

Literal walking fortresses. Putting it crudely, they were the big boys the Dutchy deployed to break things.

Seven pillars clad in steel held up the heavens. Breaking from their rooted craters in stampeding stride, they swept across the battlefield, aiding knights and crushing foes. Spirits were broken just as easily as bone as the weak turned tail. But the strong soldiered on.

A fleeing rebel slammed face-first into a mass of metal, hyperventilating all the while his fear-stricken mind caught up. “S-Sir!” A breath of relief crested the deserter’s lips. It was his leader, the Imprisoned. One instruction rang clear as day as he shoved past the frighted grunt.

“Behind me.” A simple rousing command for all those cowed by the titan’s wrath.

Spearheading the counter offense. Both sides met on equal terms, quantity versus quality. As his men picked at six towering foes, the Imprisoned locked eyes with Fredrica’s father, unbothered by the cacophony surrounding them.

All but forgotten Antonia’s knights were thrown to the wayside, equally as gobsmacked. 'Alch-knights' was the name flung around. Sounding very close to straight-up fangirling.

Knowing this lot and the fact Freddie’s old man is leading them, I can guess they’re an elite unit of some sort.

In a country upholding individual merit above all else, they might as well be the best any ordinary person can ascribe to be.

Each forceful drive was met with equal vigor. Neither man gave the other respect or headway. Errant Sparks from each strike eventually melted time’s frozen hands. Leaving the awestruck to cry with renewed resolve, reenacting the titans they witnessed.

Almost all at once, I felt it. This precarious tower of cards rocking. This game of cards, aces, and deception was nearing its end.

So many events all at once came to a headway. I guess the first would be Su’s dance of death. The moment those steel titans crash landed, the eastern archer’s air of casual taunting grew urgent. A drowned was already bad, but seven elite knights?

Time was of the essence. His boss would be overrun sooner or later without his and Lady Terri’s aid.

“Sorry, missy. Looks like fate has other plans. I was saving this for the right occasion... Ahh, what can you do?” Nocking his spear, the great wooden bow grunted under duress. All at once, his muscles bulged, struggling to pull the bowstring past its limits.

Releasing the lance to its own rapturous applause. Air once again split. The metal pole ricocheted around the drowned assassin, preventing her from giving chase.

After Gen cleared the tunnel and before Su could act, the ‘arrow’ tore the ceiling asunder. Leaving the girl sprinting for that final light before everything went black.

“Just a matter of time.” Gen mused in exasperated relief to no one in particular. “Hope the boss can lock this place down real quick. I don’t quite fancy a pissed-off drowned hunting me.” Shutting his eyes. Serenity glazed over the flamboyant man’s features. As if war and death was some far-off song heard scantly on the wind.

The eastern archer calmly rose between short aggravated coughs tinted in blood. Turning towards the room’s center, he took off, a loyal hound.

The most crucial battle was hands down, Antonia versus Lady Terri.

A back-and-forth brawl, erring disconcertingly close to our core, fortuitously in this case. One step closer to dispelling this horrendous bomb.

Crushing sharp icy grass underfoot, alert crept upon her heaving shoulders. A shock of clarity bade Antonia’s heavy hands, blocking and pushing back two flaming wheels, earning an earthly ring.

Course, the person behind the wheel was the eponymous lady.

Delivering a blow to her opponent's shoulder with the pommel of her blade, Toni quickly retreated from another storm gout. Concentration stifled her emotions. Creating an impeccable facade, concealing the creeping trepidation plaguing her thoughts.

Antonia lacked the means to truly combat the Falshani’s elemental advantage. And calling for the alchemist trio’s aid was out of the question. Risking the southern front’s collapse would be the height of folly.

For now, the best she could do is buy time. Forcing her irksome foe to pay for each inch she took closer to the core in blood.

Both warriors had their cards to play, gambling it all on a fading light. Advantage lay with the Falshani due to her innate magical talent. Also, by providence of having played the first and now a second card, the proverbial scales tipped ever so further in Lady Terri’s favor.

As Gen arrived on scene, his ‘arrow’ gouged the land where Antonia once stood. Like the professional soldiers they once were, the pair quickly fell into line. Weaving together their simultaneous attacks seamlessly.

Managing to cut their pound of flesh from the good general instead of just drawing blood.

Grit teeth dammed the flow of the obscenities from spilling out of Toni’s mouth. The situation had just gone from bad to impossible. Yet there remains a glimmer of hope she held onto.

With the alch-knights arrival demanding the Imprisoned’s attention, a new opportunity presented itself. Their attention and time were all Toni needed.

Weathering another onslaught, the general bit down a smile. Antonia’s patience was rewarded as two cards fell upon the scales. Coming in the form of the golden girls blindsiding the Gen and Lady Terri.

Fast and brutal, animated on adrenaline-fuelled fumes and battle highs alone. The pair ruthlessly lashed at the two with deadly efficacy...

They were a little manic, finally drawing blood after dealing with mister invincible armor. Senses thoroughly heightening the girl’s battle trance allowed keen sight of their opponent’s openings.

A dagger in Lady Terri’s arm and at least one cracked rib in Gen saw the two withdraw to a distance.

“Kept you waiting, huh?” Keeping her gaze on the criminals, Zhenya remarked to see if there was anything they should know. The polar opposite of her previous quarry, but equally dangerous.

Silence was Antonia’s reply. All the answer the northern girl needed. This was going to be a no-thrills brawl.

At the drop of a needle, both sides continued their back-and-forth war. Two cards each on the scale, quickly remedied by a third card dropping from Antonia’s hand. Heralded by the crashing of rocks, one very pissed-off drowned joined the fray. Irrevocably smashing the scales in the knight’s favor.

“Now, now, hold on. Aren’t they forgetting someone?” Yep. Head and I are still in this.

“You have everything ready?” I asked and was immediately answered. Yep.

At the precipice of victory, while always rooting for the golden girls. I needed the rebels to win. Playing our cards on the rebel’s side threw the balance back in their favor.

Using the built-up magical energy from Lady Terri, Head decided to play the old flash-bang trick, followed by a deluge of monsters, controlled by yours truly, aimed at slowing the golden girls and co down.

This was our gambit, nothing grand. Just a brief moment where the path to our core was clear. An opportunity for one pyromantic madwoman.

Surging past the defenders, she swiftly ripped the spell from our core... Also, ouch. Even if this was a dummy core, secondhand pain is a thing. Like the world’s worst sunburn, I tell you.

Her battle cry put the final nail in the coffin signaling for the rest of their forces to enter, free from the threat of a suicidal bombing.

Freddie’s father was the first to act in the ensuing chaos. A light in the darkest pits that swallowed Antonia’s forces, corralling and rallying them around him.

All while fending off the Imprisoned who fastidiously guarded our core. Knowing retreat was in their opponent’s cards. The imprisoned was a bastion of stability, not speed. For that, he will defer to his men.

“Go, we will hold them here!” For the first time since his arrival, Fredrica’s father spoke. Weary and boisterous, like the girl herself. It was clearly directed at Fredrica more than anything.

Said daughter could barely find the words to respond before getting swept away by Zhenya and Sushila. “Thus ending the Crucible’s trial.” With our heroes wounded and limping.