"I've been meaning to ask you, Spiritmother."

"What troubles you young one?"

"Well ..." Eve began hesitantly. "You've been away a long time ... years even."

"It would appear so," the elder Anubian reinforced.

"So why now? What brought you back?"

The Spritmother stood up from her meditative position on the tile flooring, narrowed her presence humbly to confide in the young priestess.

"Today ... there was to be a rekindling. Brother and sister alike coming together to stop a terrible foe."

"It looks like it," softly spoken.

"Not these misguided warriors." Spiritmother shooed with a confident smile, "But they are an ember to the fire he set.

"O, will it burn so fierce."

* * *

An ambush lied in wait for the two warriors to emerge from the temple halls, but was quickly dismantled by a powerful kick into the door.

Immediately, its hinges imploded, blasting its reinforced wood frame forward with the force of a cannonball. The wooden battering ram launched the entire congregation asunder; two soared over the edge to meet an even worse end.

Maybe.

Gyone held onto Gonzo's back, steadying an assault rifle from his brisk shoulder and discharging into a scrambling bunch of their infantry.

The pieces set up on this board.

The kingpin now positioned ahead of his two targets on the balcony opposite of theirs. He barked orders in a desperate fashion to retain his reign. Their toll was certainly being felt, though it was always hard to tell with this deranged heckler – numb to all but his own muscle fiber twitches.

There, Gyone and Gonzo formed a skirmish in their minds, confirmed with a simple nod to one another. Gyone finished reloading his empty clip with the last of his ammunition, slapping off the safety with a prominent clap.

Without much hesitation, the two charged to the left, a clearing congested with opposition.

A barricade of guns and guts.

They approached what appeared to be the shredded corpse of a holy banner. Etched into the fabric was that of the Church path's own Maiden insignia, reaching to the clouds as she, herself, wished to fly with them. This design was all within a simple, solid-wove embroidery.

As they passed, Gyone leapt recklessly, grabbed ahold of the drooping banner like some sort of primate. He swung his body forward while Gonzo began rushing through the crowd shoulder-first.

What it was like to be hit by this wall of fury could only be summed up as crippling and deadly.

Carelessly, the hunter began his maneuver by spraying a few bullets towards the presumed kingpin as he glided forward. His target scrambled into cover behind the middle pillar by a narrow margin. Unsuccessful in his attempt, Gyone then unloaded a fair chunk of the clip from a flank, peppering a few and disbanding the cluster near Gonzo into smaller chunks.

The hunter then swung himself around with a healthy momentum, soon dismounted boots-first into a window. He braved the stray shards all over again. Luckily, he caught himself in a roll; barreling into a luxuriously-crafted love seat with a thunderous crash. At least it wasn't a bloodbath this time.

While he shook off the event, he spotted a crimson jackass begin to mount over the window frame – blunt, wooden club at the ready. For how excited the smirking meathead was, his expression transformed to confusion quickly.

His attention was nabbed at the sound of traveling screams.

A thug smacked against the floor behind his feet, looking to have been beaten by a hammer.

It was no hammer.

That'd be too merciful.

By the sound of a conquering and determined Gonzo, another thug was punted the same direction, crashing into the club-brandishing thug, knocking his aspirations out cold.

Soon after, Gonzo emerged, offered a hand to propel their onslaught further. Much to their realization—and own sick enjoyment—this was only a single step in the mud.

* * *

In the midst of a battle on ground level, Nowa and Ornmen exchange blows with a restless effort. Some were more fortunate to be trained than other, more gun-ho combatants; but the fact remained clear: more of this, and their forces would be all but decimated.

And all will be reminded of why not to fuck with the Anubian Brotherhood by the ground they soil.

Weened, but stubborn soldiers decorated to be the most formidable of their kind. Now, they stand as the only Anubians left alive in Licentia and all of its outer islands.

Nowa sought to quench what thirst had come over his being, naturally able to swing his fallen brother's sword with little mistakes in between his assaults.

Ornmen was a trained veteran – no stranger to the heat of battle, exemplifying his abilities by wiping out a fair few with only a single thrust of his shoulder armor into their skulls.

The splatter of blood was prominent on either's face.

Nowa, a youthful complexion showered in vengeance; and Captain Ornmen, pores rejuvenated with what he considered his life's essence. Both slammed onto each other's backs as they met in the center of the battlefield.

"Hmph," growled Ornmen, averting his gaze to Nowa's blade, "Darkon was never one to share ...

"Pity. He was a fine soldier." Nowa kept his stance at peak potential in the soft, blood-gout sand.

"And now his blood is on your hands." The Youngblood bit to paralyze, at least to puncture Ornmen's thick skin.

"Our hands. But more bearing to his enemies," on instinct, as if he had been accused many times before.

The captain clashed with a group of two trying to steal his blade away with prying parries—and their bare hands. Sure enough, he knocked them backwards with the flat of his blade and finished both of the greedy thieves off with a steady swing to their torsos.

"This is no time to lose your head over grief, Youngblood!" Surely annoyed, but instilled with invigoration. "Relish in battle as Darkon would wish!"

Nowa's swings became more ferocious, but did so at the cost of his collected motions.

"You know nothing!" he retorted in the thick.

As he did, Nowa's blade was parried by a sundering jab.

The dying waves squeezed their way in, closing fast.

His knuckles still bloodied, carved with unspeakable amounts of cuts, he charged forward to meet one of them with a powerful punch. However, as he closed in at the front, he witnessed Ornmen swoop in and sever a collective of wavering arms, hands, and fingers; pieces of weaponry—and themselves—now littered the ground.

He used their dismay as a window of time to recover the blade, presented it to Nowa with an extended reach. The Youngblood's momentum suddenly died in the beat.

"I know enough."

Nowa reached for his blade, but Ornmen retracted suddenly as he looked to the Youngblood's eyes in judgement.

"What do you fight for?"

Annoyed, Nowa grabbed for the sword yet again.

Ornmen still held back the blade, allowing the thugs to converge closer by the second.

"What do you fight for?!" repeated Ornmen in a demanding uproar.

Their beings stormed over one another for moments – completely deadlocked, unflinching. The center of a vulture's picnic. The area around them was starved of patience, drowned by the rhythm of frantic footsteps barraging their way through one another. Nowa tore away his stare, darted it all around them panicked. All the while, Ornmen did the same; only he observed in a more collected manner. It was clear he was looking for an answer. And he'd let them both die if he didn't get it soon.

"For the betterment of our people!"

The turn of a key. He leapt and took ahold of the bloody sword at last. Ornmen seemed pleased without an ounce of resistance further. He traded a glance to the Youngblood with a satisfied grin of sharp, canine-like teeth.

Nowa panted and sweated profusely, yet their enemy swarmed even further. He swore he would not be buckled, gasping for breath in preparation. He turned around—as well as Ornmen did at the instant—to lay waste to their enemies.

Suddenly, a large bang echoed from the upper balcony – vibrant crash of a door kicked from its hinges. Only Ornmen noticed this event clearly enough to see who had done the damage. He bathed in his thoughts, carelessly halting his attacks atop a pile of bodies.

"Gonzo, you crazy, old bastard. I hope you didn't make a friend ..."

* * *

After much fighting, two unlikely companions found themselves near the end of the board; the king was within their reach. They resided behind a big pillar. Just around this corner support was their target. The element of surprise was gone, as clearly portrayed by a steady aim on their point. Aim shaken by nerves, but reliable nonetheless.

"You've got a plan right?" asked Gonzo, sword covered in fresh blood. Both him and his blade exfoliated sweat from their bodies. "Must I carry you like a son further?" as he managed a laugh.

The hunter, no longer capable of withstanding the expedition, slumped over the giant soldier's shoulder brace. He appeared incapable of opening his eyes for very long.

"Shoot him like the rest."

Gyone shook himself, slowly dismounted from Gonzo's back. He checked his famished clip to find he had only a few shots to spare.

Ten. Maybe even less.

Its contents shook slightly from a rattle; these casings had room to breathe for sure.

Gonzo parted a pondering hum when he monitored Gyone's tipsy movements and delayed reload.

"That's a thin window, Irensho. Sure you're in good enough spirits?" Gyone loaded the clip back and cocked it, steadily motivating himself for one last barrage.

Before he could answer, the king addressed his audience.

"Don't you wish ya just stayed dead, Gyone?" as he spread and flung his arms out. "All this death.

"All these bodies!?" He kicked aside one of his dead underlings. "Coulda been good if ya just. Stayed. Buried!"

"Yeah?!" confirmed Gyone, looking to barter. "Well, we can throw another one to the pile! Or none, if you tell me where your boss ran off to!" To this, the kingpin laughed not unlike a psychopath, tone seeming to force itself, even upon looking to his retreating brothers in arms.

Red gave way to gold as the majority palette from the outside. The guards were on the attack.

"No! That's not how this works!" The kingpin shook his head and dropped his assault rifle. "You and I, we fight to the bitter—end! So you and your fuckin' meat shield come on out"—he took a short pause with a crazed, heaving breath—"and make this interesting."

The two well-tested allies looked to one another. The kingpin's offer was laced in venom. Carefully, both Gyone and Gonzo emerged from cover to get a good look at their target.

Thin and boney on the outside, almost a snarl to his teeth and a reddish tint to his brown irises. This 'man' looked insane and unpredictable.

Just as they counted on as Gyone then slung his rifle to take a shot, smearing any intention this would be a battle of honor off their masks. Fighting fire with fire, the thug wasn't without his own plan.

In retaliation, the thug sent a sort of makeshift explosive into the air.

Gyone reacted quickly, as well as Gonzo.

Both hastily bolted towards the thug, jumped out of the way right before detonation. The device exploded into scattered mesh and copper wire. Its blast cone tore away a large chunk of floor, and ate away at one of the support pillars to only half of its width of inner stone.

The hunter rolled right into action and threw a preemptive swing of the rifle's butt towards their smug kisser. Alas, the attack was evaded effortlessly. The kingpin had gracefully leaned like threading a needle.

Immediately, Gyone enacted plan B: line up a shot and hammer like hell, for all it's got. However, he slung up the gun to only have weight lock it down, denied by the seemingly supercharged grip of the daring kingpin. Fiery bullets laid waste to the floor in a encroaching trial.

Nothing gained but fuming holes.

The gun was propped like a guardrail while the thug pulled himself closer, causing Gyone to buckle under the sudden jolt.

He wasted no time, "Thanks for the"—he exhumed mid stride, acted in exploit as his knee collided with his prey's skull amulet hidden underneath—"lift!"

Gyone grunted, dropped his weapon.

As he did, he was then punted to the edge of the balcony's railing with a swift, trained gut jab.

Gonzo rushed in, sword brandished, nosed forward with absolute prowess, roaring. He swung in a splitting motion, force fully braced by every nerve in his body. But this anomaly was quick in exploiting his advantage.

The kingpin leapt into a back flip, steadied his aim halfway through the leap and recklessly attempted to empty the clip into the dumbstruck warrior ...

... To his surprise, only one bit of ammo carved its way into Gonzo's shoulder. Lack of foresight faltered his less-than-stellar dismount, his fingers intensely beating the trigger as though it owed him.

Gyone sought an opportunity. Before him, an opening.

He shook the ever-growing intensity of pain rioting through his body. His quickened recovery fell sluggish, died down anticlimactically in a matter of seconds. At one point, his body worked like magic, but that must have dissipated some time ago—like something had flipped a switch. Nevertheless, he brought forth Gale into fierce swings.

It was anyone's guess how much training this lunatic had endured to be able to tackle both an Anubian soldier and the Silent Death—even crippled as he was. Let alone all at once.

But he made his answer short and his abilities clear.

He chucked his empty rifle at Gyone.

Instinctively, the hunter slammed the blades down and punctured through the weapon like a ka-bob—just as the thug had intended. He followed through without delay, blindsided Gyone with a flurry of blows. Two solid jabs to the face topped with a spinning kick to the chest effectively knocked the weakened hunter back into submission.

The breaking point raged through the soldier, Gonzo. Desperately, he flung his sword in a spinning motion like a fan blade. Thankfully, this impulsive act managed to graze the kingpin's right arm to at least prove he weren't some sort of mad deity; he bled plenty, too.

He snarled.

Immediately, he discarded Gyone and dug sharp eyes maniacally into Gonzo.

Without reprieve, the old soldier sped like a wild bull, knocking the kingpin back a fair distance before he regained his footing and forced himself to brake. Suddenly, his weight shifted, giving into Gonzo's charge in a way. He mutated the momentum, kicked himself aside and leapt over Gonzo's head, still firmly gripping his arms as the kingpin straddled atop his shoulders.

As he locked his legs around the giant's head, fervent laughter escaping akin to a child, jerking him to and fro. He bucked him just shy of the rails.

Gyone had just stabilized himself to his knees before forcibly springing up to embrace the giant's backside.

Sure enough, they bent and pulverized the railing with their combined weight.

Mere seconds into their descent was perpetuated tenfold, initiated by a dismounting kick from the madman's self-righteous soles.

This taunting sendoff spiraled Gonzo's body into a flipping motion.

Momentum gained quickly.

With only so much energy left, Gyone braced himself for the fall atop Gonzo's back. If nothing at all, he could at least live a few seconds longer.

* * *

"That's right, you cowardly bastards!" shouted Captain Ornmen with a blood-soaked sword to the air. "Run! Run as fast as you possibly can!—haha!"

He witnessed what little there was left of the red-vested militia stumble into the hands of a swarming, heavily-armed golden guard platoon. Then to Nowa.

"You're one hell of a warrior, Youngblood," as he sheathed his blade, held his arm out to his fresh battle brother.

Nowa appeared reluctant to meet his gesture.

He slowly raised his arm to embrace. They took each other's hands in their own and clenched tight, locking their forearms to one another.

The entirety of their embrace cursed with rotten sense.

Nowa had earned his honor, but was that really enough for him when it was through Ornmen's blessing? As they dismounted, Nowa repeated his oath solemnly as to remind himself, "For the betterment of our people."

"Quite right," confirmed Ornmen, nodded in approval. "Darkon would be very proud to see your awakening. As will your father soon.

"You feed your crest ferociously, Youngblood! Never let it go hungry."

Nowa nodded.

"Spiritmother and Muroshi clan girl!" he beckoned. "It is safe! You may emerge now-"

Suddenly, his words stopped, the corner of his vision obsessed with his right.

His soul ran cold as he looked upon the toppled giant, Gonzo crashing down.

"Impossible," his heart bargained.

Both of the soldiers feared the worst. They hastily darted forward to the approximate landing.

No logistics

No grid-like calculations

Just based off of heart alone.

The Silent Death was then spotted clinging to the top of Gonzo as they collided with the ground. Implications only worsening in the Anubian's attempt to fill in the gaps. Dust kicked up from the impact, obscuring the scene for a brief while.

But they revealed from the shroud; cold, dirty, and without a twitch relaying survival. Ornmen feared the worst.

Damn him ...

He abolished the thought of defeat by Gyone's hand moments later. He caught wind of the proud and playful kingpin, retracting his prolonged kicking stretch—shrewd and in jest. Both glared, wits locked.

The thug then sniggered, down to Ornmen as low as the ground he was standing on.

"You Anubian fucks really need to step up your trainin' or something."

The air grew quiet, stilled. Well enough for the kingpin to safely assume they'd watch his every move. So he threw himself from the balcony and landed feet first. He buckled a faint bit, shrouding any sense of pain with a grimace peering directly into Ornmen.

Without so much as a moment to breathe, both Ornmen and Nowa were on him with full force. The cocky king ensnared himself in the draw, batting them away with his assault rifle like a bat – trashing its carbon-black trim with dents. In mere seconds, their clash intensified to an even playing field. Even as he proved formidable, the maniac was noticeably starting to fatigue – crippling jabs beginning to lose their edge.

The sky now bore small, scattered clouds above, as could be told by the pockets of shadow forming on the bloodied battlefield. Gonzo forced himself to a crawl, shook Gyone's now unconscious body off of his back, trembling in suppressed anguish.

Time to move on, no matter the pain.

The shadows the sky birthed blanketed everything behind Gonzo as he slowly stumbled forward. Blood dripped from his mouth and busted nostrils. He leaned around to find Gyone, attempted to wake him by any means necessary. First rough shake-ups, then a firm smack to the face.

Nothing.

His mission was failing before his very eyes.

The crippled soldier sighed and surveyed the ongoing battle, witnessing Nowa, his own flesh and blood, plunge to the ground, pummeled by a punch of iron right to the nose.

"You're not dying today, Irensho ... Not if my son has anything to say about it." He promised in a strained whisper while he propped himself. His legs wriggled back to stability; he now hovered over The Silent Death—a guardian angel.

He swept his worn, muscular arms under Gyone, supporting him proudly with an earnest effort. But he had to prop him over his shoulders, allow its weight to rest against his back. Sadly, he could only make it so far before he was ousted.

"Hey!" screamed the thug, knocking Ornmen aside and aiming his rifle. The soldier swung himself about-face. "We're not done yet, you sack of fucking disappointment!" His beckon was followed by a crushing tap of the trigger. Its bullet path ate through Gonzo violently: a deliberate and torturous mortal wound. All he could do was turn away, shield his partner and pray to the Spirits he wouldn't get skewered through.

Second by second, the maniac let loose of a single bullet every step, only ceasing when Gonzo buckled and dropped Gyone from his cradle.

"Damn you!" grieved Nowa, on the cusp of becoming a bastard son. Ornmen could only stare in defeat, grief felt for either Tenogan clan and their suffering.

As much as his face showed—of his agony, of his own dying body crumpling beneath cold lead—Gonzo relented no further, spreading his arms out as he glared at the kingpin with tear-glossed irises.

The kingpin smirked, far removed from mercy—maybe even pity. He began laughing hysterically, and soon began the process of reloading his clip.

All was lost for this renowned warrior, staring down the barrel of a merc.

Suddenly, the thug was blind-sighted from behind.

An unknown embrace by golden arms. They clasped, locked in a tight and trembling grip. Sudden suppression galvanized the kingpin, struck with an unfamiliar plague. He let loose his weapon to the sand. His apprehender emerged from the right shoulder, revealed them to be a bloodied, bruised, and vengeful Harian.

"Now!" as he swerved against rebellion. "Kill this monkey while you have the chance!"

"Hng!—I didn't say you could survive that fall!" said the king in folly. Their vision darted around Nowa to Ornmen rapidly, who actively spitted at his attempt to kill them; weapons were recovered and brought to brandish. Only a few steps to go.

His biteless words were met with a tighter grip birthed from sheer annoyance. There was no way Harian was going to lose him this time, even to bode to his juvenile attitude.

"Shut your trap, you insufferable worm!"

"Please, heh ... Call me-"

Words halted.

Ornmen drove forward, sliced the nameless thug down the middle, crooked to the left as to miss Harian's head; but unavoidably lobbing his arm off in the process. During this victorious second, the thug murmured his last word as he put a name to the madness.

"Ru ... dolph ..."

His cleaved halves exploded in a red mist, harmonized with Harian's injury. Rudolph collapsed into two pieces in a gory mess at the instant. Harian screamed in agony as he retracted from his sacrifice. He immediately grabbed ahold of the wound in a vain attempt to stop the bleeding. Both Harian and Ornmen found themselves showered in the spectacle.

Ornmen slowly sheathed his sword, confided to Harian in regret. And relief.

"A noble sacrifice."

"Whatever keeps our way of life alive," added Harian in a strained, breathy voice, "I would die outright."

"Well. You've earned it today." Ornmen offered his hand in an open, human handshake. A token of appreciation not without its own blasphemy in his mind. But Harian held himself from accepting.

"Keep your thanks ..." He turned away. "Leave this place and never return!" Ornmen was taken aback, snarling as he turned his flustered stare to Nowa.

"Tend to Gonzo, Youngblood," he deflected, pointing to Gonzo across the vermillion-coated sandlot. For once, Nowa was more than quick to oblige.

Nowa took a knee to check his vitals.

Maybe he just passed out, with vapid reasoning. Though only optimism was at work by the time he got a closer look at the bullet wounds. Rounds unmistakably fatal buried themselves into Gonzo's rib cage. However unlikely, Gonzo's hand slowly rested itself onto Nowa's arm. His dying father, his mentor of all he knew on the battlefield, turned to face Nowa with this unconditional love one last time – hindered by coughing blood.

"Glad to see you're alive, Nowa." His faint voice holding on as he took a deep breath. "How was your first taste of combat? Was it everything you hoped for?" Nowa could barely hold himself together, nodded in approval blindly, far gone from the question.

Gonzo had already long accepted his fate. And his face told Nowa all he needed to know. He pushed no further with small talk. He turned his gaze to Gyone's body, to his right.

Nowa began to tear up slightly, looking down as his son and nothing more. So many things to say, but no time at all to give them justice.

"If you are to fall ..." said Gonzo, struggling to sustain himself, took one more breath as his grip loosened, "make sure it is for the right reasons ... For your home ... For your brothers and sisters." His eyes shut, embraced the shimmer calling him away.

"Be the soldier I know you can be."

A lone cloud shadowed the sun's light at just the right time to cover the area in a strange shade. Eve ran head-first, hysterical with the Spiritmother not far behind.

"Gyone ...? Gyone?!"

She slid to his side, trying to wake him with firm smacks across the cheek. "Wake up, tough guy!" Thankfully, she calmed when she realized he was breathing around the fifth strike. Her conditional rampage lingered as permeated, red hand prints.

Suddenly, the grieving few heard an unsheathing of a blade, the scathing slit of a leather scabbard they would rather never hear again in their lives. Followed by Ornmen's grizzled voice drop to a somber tone as he held the Spiritmother hostage in her tracks.

"I'm sorry, but we're not leaving without him ..." like programming taking over. Nowa sprang up.

"You bastard son, Ornmen!" He stomped recklessly closer. "I won't allow this any longer!" Ornmen pressed the blade against her neck, effectively keeping the belligerent warrior in his place, fearing she would be injured further. Or worse.

"That's enough out of you, Youngblood!

"Hurry up and retrieve Gyone. We're done here!" His stern glare invaded Nowa, threats frothing from his brain. He dared no further action, closed his eyes and drooped his head low in shame.

Huffed nostrils interwoven to his surrender.

He drudged the walk back to the hitman's motionless body. Eve wasn't ready to give her guardian away.

She held her place, shielding his chest with her back. However, one look into the Youngblood's eyes painted a picture of reluctant order – like he was stripped of any options. Down to a vulnerable core. She contested no further between Gyone and the reach of the Anubian Brotherhood. A moot struggle.

As he lifted Gyone's body from the ground, he felt the strange presence of his late father cloud him. An epiphany struck, mimicked Gonzo's embrace of the hunter's person.

He's not the only one with collateral ...

Nowa halted his movements for a moment, looking to their prey. Swiftly, he unsheathed his own blade while catching The Silent Death dangerously with the left hand. Nowa strung up Gyone's unconscious body, placing him to his knees as he then glided the flat of his blade to the jugular.

"Traitor!"

Even for all the potential that he sought in him, Nowa was no longer worth the captain's branch.

"Let her go!" A mirrored delivery of Ornmen.

Moments of silence passed; neither was letting down their piece of trade for anything. At this time, the small cluster of clouds inched away, allowing the sun to gleam off of the many golden guard's armor. Their shine flooded each entryway with able bodies.

Ornmen turned aside, the glares noticeably hindering his eyes and judgement. The captain found himself victim in the realm of his fast-decaying situation.

"You swore an oath to me ..." Ornmen distraughtly capitalized.

"For the betterment of our people ..." Nowa began to shift, the blade slowly bending to lethality. "This mission has brought chaos and desperation to our kind. I am doing what I swore, one way or another!" Ornmen shook with flustered anger as he growled.

He shoved aside the Spiritmother, seeded an oath of his own personally towards the Youngblood.

"You disgraceful—Consider yourself an enemy to the Brotherhood from this day forward ..." He cautiously approached the nearest exit gate.

In expected fashion, the guards stood their ground, but were soon dismantled by a single motion by Harian's command. A simple nod caused a path to slowly part aside. Upon being presented a clear way out, Captain Ornmen marched alone bitterly, proceeded through the anxious crowd of personnel with a rigid scowl.

The struggle finally concluded.

A breath of fresh air overwhelmed the area and all who inhabited the desecrated holy ground. Nowa dropped Gyone's body as he sheathed his blade. Eve reclaimed her spot near The Silent Death. Upon retracting the sword to rest, he felt overwhelmed and began drawing near the Spiritmother. Disgusted, he dropped it, walked slowly towards her in a sort of quiet pleading.

"Forgive my bloodshed. I did what I had to do."

He held his head low, felt no right to be near her. Surprisingly, she motioned her fingers as to invite him closer. Without a home, he took his place, knelt down on a single knee. She relayed sympathy with a gentle pet to his scalp.

"Do not fret, young one. This is far from a surrendering."

"What if they come back for you ...?" white-knuckled with fear.

The Spiritmother chuckled.

"I'd be lucky to get any more company," blooming with a joke. However, this subtle jab didn't appear to lift the Youngblood's mood.

"I'm not afraid," the Spiritmother affirmed in all her protective wisdom, "for I'll have a strong warrior by my side to protect me." She kneeled to meet Nowa's battle-worn face, holding his shoulders firmly in embrace.

The Anubian's face pigmented a drained red at the delivery as he met her eyeless gaze.

Harian breathed a sigh of relief, gritted his own agony, looked to Eve.

"My lady, thank god you're okay. I don't know if I could-" His address was interrupted.

"Help him ... Please."

Harian examined the worn assassin. He mustered a smile from his being as he prepped up to Her Holiness.

"Your deliquen—friend will be back up in no time!" His good arm brought to a clenched-fist promise. He consoled to the bright, blue sky above. "So sayeth the high priestess: heaven's will be done!"