[NB] Pandaemonium Fortress

[Remilia Scarlet]

Metal buckled and wood splintered as hammers smashed into the gate, the frame caving inward with each swing. Hammer squad worked at a fever pitch, getting into their rhythm as they chipped away at the enemy fortification. The rest of the Doom’s Marines weathered the enemy fire, myself included as I mixed between suppressing the defenders manning the walls and the freaks attacking us directly. It seemed that bursting through was would be paid dearly in the dead, but as I turned another demonic clown to hamburger something ticked at the back of my mind. The guns went silent over head, and I glanced above us to see a sight that brought tears rolling down my cheeks. The Coming Storm’s flag flew over the walls of the unholy battlements, joy and pride filling my soul as Zenitsu and his men took the fight so close. My smile spread from ear to ear, and vigor filled my body.

“The Coming Storm just got in!” I shouted out, punctuated as a blast of my shotgun into the neck of some twisted monster. “Are you going to let them have all the fun, soldiers?”

“Sir, no sir!” I heard back in a synchronous roar, and Doom’s Marines crushed the remaining enemies against their own walls in a wave of rebounded fury. Hammer squad struck with a new force, and after one last shudder the great gate collapsed inwards to rattle a death throes that echoed across the theme park..

A new set of monsters rushed in from the edge of their eldritch attractions, only for them to find that Hammer Squad were not mere breakers of fortifications! Broken skulls were left as the first stepping stones as Hell’s Diver swarmed through the gate like a flood.

I won’t lie, it was fun to be on the other side of that equation for once.

The streets of the theme park were no better than it’s abominable exterior: torn and worn canvas draped loosely over rusted frames for the shop, the products twisted versions of themselves. The attractions seemed even deadlier than their mundane equivalent, traps sucking in the unsuspecting to violently bloody deaths. Caboose nearly got us killed on one as we found ourselves trapped on the marry-go-round of hell, clown monsters coming in while we were struggling to even stand upright. My shotgun clipped one lion headed monster armed with a whip, and I moved back to keep away from his counter attack before accidentally slammed into my blue armored companion.

"Watch where you're going!" I shout on reflex, but I was barking up the wrong tree. I couldn't even tell if Caboose even knew where he was.

"Wait hold on, I'll help!" He shouts, and I duck immediately as his assault rifle sweeps bullets over my head, knocking a few of the monsters away from the shots.

"Caboose, I swear to god- wait hold up-" I took a second to figure how and pointed to the remaining enemies "Hey Caboose, they need some help!"

"Gasp! I'm coming!" He shouts with gusto, and tackles through them like a wrecking ball. I bolted over to the center of the hell ride while the distraction wades into combat, avoiding a near miss as one of the ponies almost bites my leg off, and I drove my spinning chainsaw into the controls. Wiring pulled across the teeth, and the ride laid dead to slow to a stop.

"Are you done helping, Private Caboose?" I ask aloud, looking back to my soldier as he stands there, holding a suffocated monster in a hug.

"They're sleeping so well" He says as he drops the corpse. I leave it at that, and drag him over to Hammer squad to look after him as I retook command.

The defenders held us back with weapons galore, much of the Doom's Marines pinned down. The worse was at the end of the street, a shooting gallery with a Lewis gun stood on the stall with it’s gunner equipped with one of those spiked German helmets. The hat was ridiculous, but was still an effective machine gun as I was penned down behind a dunk tank full of piranhas.

“Alright, we’re pinned, where’s our best bet from here?” I observed and looked around for any answer, blind firing over the side of my cover to at least keep the Unmade from advancing.

“Three close buy options: the hall of mirrors, the freak show, or what looks like the food preparation.” A scout told me, his sniper rifle ringing out before dropping back into concealment.

“Those are literally the worst options.” I shot those down. The first two were just simply asking to run face to face with the worst things imaginable, and I had no intention of finding out what the corn dogs here were made of. “Give me a second.”

I bolt out of cover, the Lewis gun following my steps to fill me full of lead, a few scrapping over the top of my shoulder. I vault over one of the game stalls, heavy boot kicking into the attendant trying to kill me with a baseball bat. He tumbles backwards over the table, knocking over the pyramid stack of milk bottles, before I reach over and crush his head with a stomp.

“I never did win these” I commented to myself as I dead body and chucked the thing into the opening. The Lewis gun shot it out of the air in reaction, and I took that opportunity to lean out and unleash a hail of lead on the heavy weapon with the chaingun. The shooting gallery was in tatters when I was done, and I waved the rest of my group forward.

The Haunted House at the center of the base was close at hand, and I wasn’t about to be afraid of a fucking kid’s ride, no matter how corrupted it was.

 

[Ridley]

The storm slipped forward, heedless of anything but the way in front of them and the monsters they would face there. Nothing was more important than forcing their way forward. Pandaemonium fortress would fall this day, no matter the cost.

A clawed hand cut through the dirt. delicate, feminine hands, but followed by other, rougher ones.

Snake lady exited the ground with an uncharacteristically angry expression. After everything, to have her mind invaded and be forced to play the good soldier... she didn't go through all the effort of killing the overmind again for this!

Next to her spoke echoes of her rage, not just the familiar zerg that followed her faithfully, but spiders with the heads and voices of men, or at least... the vague interpretations of them. Crypt fiends stood next to them, their clownish costumes garishly put together and broken in places, the foul ichor staining many of them brown.

Snake Lady was quick - she understood this plan all too well. Psychic power smashed outwards with the force of a wrecking ball, and As the queen of the swarm made a simple swiping motion to the side, the ladders collapsed, just a minute after they'd been raised.

It couldn't have been more perfectly timed if she'd planned it -which, the unmade lieutenant had.

"Sorry, looks like they didn't bother waiting for you." The taunting tone echoed. "and now you're all alone."

"Didn't ask." Came the relatively gruff reply, as Musashi readied her blades, looking towards the assembled unmade soldiers... Before looking back towards the exit.

Funny thing about demons, as she'd learned. the curses they did to themselves... 'the hidden', as they were called, were useful little creatures with the inability to become visible... except for in the midst of combat. Fish-eyed, claw-handed demons appeared behind musashi, holding the gate and cutting off escape where her burrowed soldiers hadn't.

"There's no help coming, and our numbers are far too many, far too powerful. How long do you think your muscles can hold out? How long can you keep swinging those sword?" The woman taunted with a mixture of sadism and... nostalgia. somewhere, deep in the sentence, a touch of sadness glimmered.

"Well, for the rest of my life, obviously!" was Shinmen Musashi's simplistic, cutting response.

"not this time. You're here and cut off because you're a valuable resource. Your skill won't save you here, but once you fall, I'm sure it'll be put to good use against your allies. I'll make sure you can ask them 'why' to their face, samurai."

"Yeah, sounds cool, uh-huh. Lady, stop talking 'bout yerself and show me you've got a fight worth havin' in yeah. you don't speak for me." Musashi's simplistic response came. The Infested terran knew better, of course, could notice the heavy breathing and roughened posture. Defiance, yes, but not with confidence.

The zerg queen gave a sadistic laugh. "oh, that's a temporary problem. When we're through here, I'll be the only one that can ever speak for you."

 

[Miyamoto Musashi]

Hiding spot, burned.

Ladders, broken.

Gate, blocked.

Outnumbered? Most definitely.

Beset on all sides by spider monstrosities and claw-handed horrors, Shinmen Musashi’s prospects did not look particularly good for making it out alive. But she had little reason to falter now.

And then there was the matter of the enemy Lieutenant herself.

Her eyes stared forward, unmoving as the ronin fought the opponent’s dozens of times in her mind, running through scenario after scenario, each resulting in a more gruesome end than the last.

Dash for the lieutenant, cut down from behind at first opportunity by the hidden ones.
Attempting to escape through the gate, chased to extinction by the spider horrors and the lieutenant alike.
Standing her ground here, overwhelmed and cut down again.

“What’s the matter, did you freeze from the horror of your looming fate, Samurai?” taunted the Snake Lady once more as her arms crossed and her skeletal wings spread behind her. The Zerg Queen’s stature was grandeur and her presence immense as she stood and waited, akin to a cat waiting for the mouse to jolt!

Closing her eyes the swordsman drew a deep breath as her stance relaxed, tension escaping from her shoulders and grip relaxing upon her blades. Standing still, the woman exhaled and dropped toward the ground, diving backwards as her blades whirred to life and cut through a pair of the hidden.

Sliding to a halt, leapt for the skies as -

SWISH!

- a pair of cryptids struck for her, their blades catching naught as the somersaulting manslayer descended upon them, twirling upon her fall as her blades rent through both of the creatures and they fell hissing to the ground.

“Bravo, you must be really trying!” goaded the lieutenant from the background as she the ground under the swordsman began to rumble whilst the Brood Queen grinned sadistically. She had yet to take a step, nor would she.

Diving to the side, moments later a wall of spikes shot forth from the ground, where Musashi had stood just seconds before, easily tall enough to impale her from top to bottom, should she have been caught in them.
Dashing forward, the battle hardened manslayer leapt forward toward another pair of cryptids who raised their blades in preparation and defence. Of course, when it came to them, Shinmen Musashi was definitely out-gunned, given that they had four blades each.

CLANG!

And so, the inner two arms of each came to block the forward-flying swordsman as she pushed forward and up, diverting the momentum from simply halting there, to throwing her above and over the horrors.

Gyrating as she flew, the swordsman drove her blades into their backs as she tore them open from front to back, leaving the howling creatures behind as she rolled onto the ground.

From nearby, she could hear the footfalls of the remaining hidden as they were still running after her, coming for her and seeking to find meaning in their existence by driving their blades into her battleworn flesh.

Panting, the swordsman leaned onto her knees to catch her breath, ears still straining for those footfalls that fell ever closer.

“Aww, getting tired?” rang a wave of taunts once more as the ground began to rumble underneath her. Shinmen Musashi wouldn’t be given the luxury of catching her breath tonight.

The hidden howled as they revealed themselves once more with their strikes, diving for manflesh that desperately dove aside from both spikes and claws alike. The spikes shot forward from the earth, driving through friend or foe alike as they impaled the three revealed monstrosities, finishing their lives in an instant.

As for the swordsman, a nasty scrape in her boot, steel shaved off where it had once been. Clambering onto her feet once more, the girl thought back.

Shinmen Musashi’s father, Shinmen Munisai had been a peerless samurai, one who had perfected the sword of One. A sword that nothing lay beyond, a strike so perfect, that there was no surpassing it. Yet for all her life, Musashi had sought to outdo that shitty old crow, to surpass his life’s work with her own. For if he recognized nothing else, he would have to recognize her peerless skill, should she outdo him.

Shinmen Musashi-no-Kami Fujiwara no Harunobu turned to face the opposing lieutenant, a smile dancing across her visage as she finally spoke. “I’m no samurai. I am a ronin and don’t you forget that!” she shouted, kicking the ground as she charged for what may have been her final opponent.

With fire in her eyes, the Vibrant Flower of Tengen reached for the beyond, reached for Zero, for the Throne of Void itself as she sought to surpass her father in what could yet become her final confrontation in this life.

Miyamoto Musashi has used 1 focus.

 

[Luck Voltia]

To many, it was a twisted hellscape; a literal nightmare in which they were expected not only to face their fears, but to kill their fear entirely. That had been, of course, the advice that some of the older soldiers had given the greener, more easily intimidated recruits. It worked to varying degrees, as not even every squad in the Hell Diver army was exactly the same as the others. Some went about their business with cold, professional efficiency, ripping and tearing their Unmade foes as they made their way deeper into the fort, even as their comrades were ripped and torn themselves.

The Coming Storm was...less professional, but by design. From a distance, they could be heard shouting, hollering, even screaming.

To the trained ear, however, the laughter of Luck Voltia could be heard, piercing through all of it.

The mage known as the Cheerful Berserker wasn’t immune to fear; he simply managed it through the sheer joy that he felt when he fought. Some of the monsters he had encountered initially had disappointed him, but he quickly realized that they were just pawns, fodder thrown at them to slow them down and little else.

They did, if only for a little bit, but there was no way Luck was going to stop for long. Someone or something was going to have to do it themselves.

Soon, the outer wall had been breached, revealing the amusement park within. Chaos ensued, and Luck found himself away from many of the allies he had recognized, instead following the better fights as he saw them. Kiting would-be attackers and employing offense of his own eventually led him into a corner, with another wave of creatures making their way toward him.

Luck’s smile remained, but his eyes were wild and crazed, darting between the twisted visages of each form that stood before him. He didn’t have a spell strong enough to defeat all of them in one go, and even if he did, the thought crossed his mind that he wouldn’t want to expend all of his mana before the grand finale anyway.

So...what to do? Eventually, his eyes landed upon an open door to his right, blocked off by monsters but still within reach with a little creativity.

His smile widened. With a burst of magical energy around his legs, he pounced upon the wall behind him and pushed off of it with his legs, propelling him over the crowd and through the door he’d seen earlier. Whatever this building had in store for him couldn’t have been worse than what he was escaping, but then again, he was pretty sure he caught the words “Hall of Mirrors” on the outside before he entered.

Once inside, Luck was afforded with a few moments of rest, though the room was too dark for him to know much more about his situation. As his breathing returned to normal, he heard the pop of a loud switch followed by electrical whirring as a dull, red light began to fill the room. When he could finally see, all he saw was his own reflection...in a sea of other copies of himself, reflected into eternity. Hall of Mirrors, indeed.

Unnerving as it was, Luck couldn’t feel completely hopeless, because even though his ability to detect mana had diminished, he could still hear someone else in the room--heavy breathing and the sound of metal dragging against the concrete underneath them. Whomever was planning on ambushing him was not particularly good at remaining undetected.

“Have you come to play with me?”

A voice rang out, and one of the mirrors gave way to the image of a young man, frail and pale white, with long white hair and a tattered gray jumpsuit. Surrounding him was a long chain, seemingly binding him, though the look on the man’s face closely resembled the expression on Luck’s: smiling and faintly desperate.

“Sure! ‘Play’ is ‘fight’ here, right?” Luck responded cheerfully. “I’m liking the theme, though it’s a little too complicated for me.”

“It’s been so long since I’ve had such a...willing playmate,” the other man replied, his voice drawn out and wispy. “Come find me, if you can.”

It was easy enough, Luck thought as he began to walk through the maze that had been set before him. All he had to do was listen for the man’s movements, since he was so freaking loud. His grimoire opened at his side, and sparks of electricity gathered at his palm. Sure enough, he could hear the clanging of metal, and he turned to fire…

Not only did he fire at a mirror, but it actually reflected the magic back at him. It should have shattered from the force, but instead, he was rewarded with a shock.

His foe chuckled. “Oh, how excited I was for the forces outside to have fed me a mage. These may be normal mirrors, but they’ve been...enhanced to reflect magic. You have no way to hurt me.”

Another clang. The man hadn’t moved, so the mage was fairly confident that he was staring in the right direction.

It was a normal mirror that reflected magic, so if he couldn’t use that…

Luck’s mind moved quickly through any other means of offense. Suddenly, his eyes flicked towards the pistol at his thigh, and his shoulders slumped. It was kind of a drag to have to rely on something else, but…

“So let’s see,” Luck muttered to himself. “What did that guy say?”

He mouthed each step as he raised the gun.

“What are you mumbling abou--”

Before the words escaped the man’s lips, the gun fired. The glass shattered, and on the other side, the lifeless body of his enemy lied on the ground.

Glass crunched beneath his boots as he walked towards the corpse, peering down at it. "Oh...wow, that's so gross!"

 

[Karl Jak]

The Hell Divers pushed and pressed their way through the fortified amusement park.

Soldiers crouched behind overturned popcorn carts as others sought temporary reprieves from the fighting within bright, loud arcades that were scattered throughout the various thoroughfares. Slowly but surely, the main arteries on the southern half of the unorthodox fort were won over by the soldiers in green, who—even though they were prone to require periods of respite from what felt like days of violence—never yielded in the face of resistance from the bevy of monstrous clowns, ghouls, and assorted freaks.

At the head of the army, the Commander of the Hell Divers kicked through the door of the central bastion. Shotgun at the ready, Doomguy personally led his ‘personal guard’ as the literally manhandled their way through a variety of flashing lights and cardboard displays set to impede their path.

“Secure the area!” The marine barked as he waved for the soldiers to advanced deeper into the labyrinthine complex. “Sweep every area before you move on, because these monsters could be lurking anywhere and everywhere.”

Two smaller units, led by the Nameless Lady and Tony Redgrave, broke off into separate directions as Doomguy and a contingent of his eponymous marines pressed through a large, enclosed courtyard at the center of the haunted funhouse. While there were a few roaring beasts, the operation felt almost too easy…

Musashi and Zenitsu were reunited a few blocks away from the haunted funhouse, with the former having lost track of the zerg queen after being swarmed by more of her cannon fodder. Relieved to see one another alive after so much fighting, any exchange between the two was cut short when the funhouse at the center of the amusement park exploded. Even at their distance, with a few attractions in between them and the black, the pair were plucked up off the ground and sent hurtling alongside the sea of rubble and smoldering debris.

Somewhere on the northern edge of the amusement park, the “Snake Lady” watched the mushroom cloud and sneered. Something in that beautiful image of utter desolation made her feel a bit nostalgic.

Nuclear launch detected.

Battle Update​

The battle (and thus the square) have been won by the Hell Divers.

However, the 'bastion' was jam-packed with explosives/gun-powder/munitions and triggered to detonate by “The Swarm”.

Unmade Carnaval survivors have escaped to the north of the now-lost and now-broken Fort.

The Hell Divers can repair the fort, which would require either sticking around or at the very least leaving behind a fort garrison (300 soldiers) to work on that over the next two days. Or they can press on. Your lives, your choice. Please confirm a course of action through PMs.

Casualty Reports​

Unmade Carnaval:

“The Storm” has been destroyed, including Lieutenant Windstrom. Its only survivor is Graw, who will simply be too strong-willed to die.

“The Swarm” has lost 100 soldiers, and Lieutenant Unchicha, who perishes in the climactic fighting.

Hell Divers:

“Sinking Blade” and “Infernal Guide” were both destroyed during the fighting. Nameless Lady will be pulled from the rubble alive, but Tony Redgrave willnot.

“Coming Storm” has lost 250 soldiers (distributed about evenly along combat types). The unit needs to have troops added to it to reach the minimum or it must be dissolved.

“Doom’s Marines” hast lost 250 soldiers (again, distributed about evenly among combat classes).

All Hell Diver PCs (with the exception of Toga and Caboose) receive Minor Injuries in the form of generalized bruises and bumps and cuts from the fighting. Toga and Caboose do not receive injuries (just so Jeff can stop being paranoid).

 

[Karl Jak]

Face to Face
???​

Karl UnJak, fresh removed from the battlefields, found himself traipsing quite literally through a video arcade. While the machines were all unpowered, that did not change the fact that someone had expended the effort to fix or replace them?

“You know,” a voice spoke from the other end of the long corridor as the various pinball machines, crane games, and light gun shooters started to click on. “You got that Karl Jak look, but you don’t really have the smell down.” Arthur Morgan strolled out from behind a nearby pinball machine and tilted his hat at the smiling, suit-less spy, who promptly shed the visual trickery that kept him concealed from most.

“Hello, Wade.” Karl UnJak remarked. “Fancy meeting you here.”

“Y’know, I couldda filled the suave, sexy infiltrator trope just as good as you, Pardner. Instead, I got stuck with a dysfunctional army wearing skirts.”

“There’s still time to join us.”

Arthur put a hand on his tummy and tossed his head back, channeling his inner Tidus for a few moments before he quickly drew a six shooter from his waist. “You tell that there clown of yers that I reckon I’ll join her when she gets shot and left for dead, but until then ... Arthur Morgan plays for keeps. Also, truth, justice, and the (early 20th century) American way!”

The spandex cowboy pulled back on the trigger, unloading the full complement of rounds as Karl UnJak sprang for the relative safety of a pinball machine.

“Now don’t be a varmint,” Arthur shouted as he slid the barrel of the revolver out and discarded the empty casings onto the floor. “We know my track record with killin’ Karl Jaks,” the man turned to something only he could apparently see and smiled behind his mask. “Now what in tarnation? I do declare, that’s one of them Dante’s Abyss VII references in the flesh! Yee-haw!”

At that, Karl UnJak sprung up and fired a repulsor blast as the snicking cowboy, who backflipped before smacking into a Mortal Kombat cabinet. With little time to duck, Arthur ducked as a second blast punched through the top half of the machine. “Gat damn, that was my wedding present for the salt miner.” The cowboy quickly reloaded the revolver. “I think you just yee’d your last haw there, False Karl.”

“Quite talking to cameras and making terrible jokes and die,” Karl UnJak laughed before scattering his enemy once more with a quick succession of blasts.

Ducking and hoping to avoid the bursts of energy—or was it plasma? Radiation? Electron goo?—Arthur Morgan slid under a Terminator pinball machine and squeezed back on the trigger as the sneering, shirtless savant came into the shot.

Wincing, Karl UnJak held up a hand.

Arthur, who scowled at the lack of fresh bullets in his gun as he looked his foe dead in the whites of his eyes, proceeded to tilt his head.

A beat later, Mjolnir crashed through the wall over the cowboy’s head, and after grabbing hold of the hammer, Karl UnJak blew a kiss as he was pulled to safety by the little hammer that could.

Deadpool used 1 application of Focus

Karl UnJak was shot in the shoulder (Minor Injury)

In nearby combat that broke out after UnJak’s exposure…

65 Unmade Carnaval soldiers were killed.
20 Babylonian soldiers were killed.

 

[Izaneus Phortea]

Iza breathed heavily as he sat amongst his dead, he looked around, the decaying bodies of the unmade, and his own soldiers... "I'm beginning... To see why that man.. Detests this game..." He joked halfheartedly, watching the battlefield go.

"What... Is truly the point of this? I can... The unmaking I can understand... But what'll happen when we go against the Hell Divers? Will I kill another man for the sake of a game?" He asked himself. Sitting.. Panting... Before standing up.

"I'm not sure I can do that... When I first joined it felt surreal but..." He sighed, it felt like it was all unravelling for him... He felt somewhat trapped.

But he still promised to support his allies however necessary, and he would make good on his word

 

[Roy Mustang]

Mustang stood at one of the windows of the reclaimed fort of pandemonium in a poor mood. The neon lights and clown-faced mouth that decorated the viewport did not particularly improve the ex-commander’s state of mind. He stared out at the distant light show of the conflict between the Helldivers and the remnants of Ridley’s Unmaking force. Something about all of this didn’t sit right. Mustang’s gaze momentarily drifted down to the assortment of amusement park fortifications that dotted the interior of their new residence. Well, actually there were multiple things that weren’t right about the current situation.

The first was this unforeseen side of the Unmaking, the creatures that had infested the temple at the southern half of the island had been horrific and monstrous, in a twisted way that he had not immediately placed in the heat of battle and the aftermath of betrayal. Now that it was staring him in the face. Why would a being that desired the end of all things create a distorted amusement park? These creatures were Unmaking, yet they possessed enough intelligence to construct a defensive position, and maintained enough autonomy to have decorated it, macabre as the choices may have been. It did not match his understanding of the unmaking as the journal had described it.

The creature he had fought at the base of the temple. A general such as it was, of the unmaking army. And he hadn’t even thought to interrogate the creature. Mustang grimaced. Even as he campaigned a one-track focus on dismantling the Unmaking on every possible front, he had been content simply to assault their force in mass like a mindless drone. So distracted in the petty politics of an artificial war that he wasn’t even doing proper investigations. He’d been uniquely placed to organize a large-scale examination of the unmaking’s military operations. Yet here he stood, clueless and useless as the war marched onwards.

Gilgamesh had played his hand well. Feigning outrage at Mustang’s treatment of the Hell divers they had encountered, undermining his authority from an extremely defensible location. He should have borne the brunt of Gilgamesh’s irritation, not sought the middle ground between their positions…. He ground his teeth slightly as he watched the distant explosions. There was no use to re-treading old decisions. He had made mistakes before, worse ones than here. That time was past; now he needed to focus on what he could salvage from the current situation. There were unmade beings here with intelligence. That was a fact that he should act upon before another opportunity slipped through his fingers. He turned away from the window and stalked through the hallways with his booted half-step pace.

---​

“Has it ever occurred to either of you?” Mustang asked to nobody in particular. “That the Unmaking chooses to be ugly?”

The Babylonian soldier keeping watch nearby glanced over with a confused expression, as did Lieutenant Izaneus.

“I’m sorry?” The mage asked with a frown, before continuing his sketch of the view from the top of the fort. Mustang wondered slightly why he seemed so interested in drawing such a twisted place as this, but perhaps it was just something the lieutenant did.

“Some of them seem to look perfectly delightful. The one that Deadpool faced just recently for instance. It seems that being Unmade does not require the mutilation of one’s physical self. Imagine all that destructive urge, behind a beautiful face? It’d be nearly impossible for any man to resist something like that...”

Mustang leaned with his back to the wall of the outcropping, one hand on his chin, as he pondered. The Babylonian soldier coughed, moving to return to his assigned surveillance of the battlefield before he could be implicated in whatever this particular conversation was becoming.

“Uhhh…” Izaneus began blinking a few times. “Well I-“

“I need to speak with one of them.” Mustang interjected, his casual tone dropping into a more familiar focus, “One of the enemy generals. Either that skeletal dinosaur or maybe the clown in charge of all this. One of them that is able to plan things for itself beyond just a taunt as it explodes.”

“What for?” Izaneus put down the sketchbook for a moment, his brow furrowed. “We’re here to destroy them aren’t we? That was the whole reason behind allying with Gilgamesh in the first place.”

Mustang nodded. “And it still is the main priority. But I’ve been thinking too small. This is an opportunity that I was willing to risk my subordinate’s life on, along with two civilians, back before all this betrayal and bloodshed. We need to get a better understanding of the Unmaking, what it is and how it responds when it cannot simply break things apart.” He pointed to one of the camera drones that had been covertly recording the proceedings of the war for Syntech’s multi-planet audience.

“If those broadcasts haven’t been shut down yet from all this carnage and death, then any reactions we can provoke will be seen across the whole of the Crossroads. That is information that someone will be able to use. Even if we don’t manage to learn anything ourselves.”

Izaneus closed the sketchpad. “You’re not talking about ‘eventually’ with this, are you, commander…” His slightly resigned tone brought a hint of a smirk to Mustang’s lips.

“Maybe I just want to see just how much reign our General is willing to give us?"

 

[Roy Mustang]

Mustang stood at the ready with a collection of Babylonian soldiers, their weapons trained on the inert form of Ridley. It was clear the Unmade reptile had been through some harsh combat since their encounter at the temple a few weeks back. Mustang grimaced, his eyes trailed from the mechanical protrusions that scored and marred their captive’s form, down to the large brass boot that encompassed his own broken leg. It was interesting, the lengths that one could go to for survival, especially in a madness like this. With a faint frown, he cast that thought aside. Mercy had no place in this hellscape of an island, and this monster deserved no empathy from him now.

“Sir!” One of the soldiers spoke up, and the sound of readying weapons pulled Mustang’s attention back to the creature in front of him, sprawled out on the ground of the low-ceilinged chamber. One of Ridley’s eyes had opened. Mustang tensed, his gaze darting to the restraints. This strategy would never hold Ridley in his prime, but with all those injuries? He prepared to spring into action anyway as the mechanical whirring of Ridley’s augmentations became an audible hum that filled the chamber. With a sound somewhere between a snarl and a snicker, the predator made to rise. Only to find that his body resisted the motion, only allowing him the slightest adjustment. Ridley’s yellow eyes narrowed to slits.

“Well how about that.” Mustang spoke with a healthy dose of self-congratulation, relaxing somewhat as their captive remained in place.

“What… have you done?” The space pirate’s voice was surprisingly calm, though it carried an undercurrent of menace even now.

“I took a page from his Majesty’s playbook.” Mustang fished in the pocket of his uniform as he spoke, “But really, we have your own commander to thank for this. When I found out the rides here were fully functional? Well, let’s just say that restraining you without those brakes would have been significantly more precarious.”

He chuckled and tossed a small piece of metal scrap towards the space pirate. it’s arc shifted drastically downwards to impact the ground nearby. Ridley’s eyes darted down at it, then back towards Mustang.

“Magnets.” The predator responded simply.

Mustang’s brow furrowed. So it could reason, and cleverly at that. Did all Unmade beings possess this level of intelligence underneath their rage? Or was this one just particularly clever? He stepped forward, his brass boot clunking audibly with each step.

“That’s right. We’ve lined this room with every magnetic brake and propulsor we could find in the whole damn fortress. Repulsion from the ceiling, attraction from the floor, all those metal augmentations will keep you handily pinned here for the length of our conversation.”

“It will be a short time.” The Space pirate still seemed unconcerned. He watched Mustang through one yellow eye, gaze scarcely blinking. Content to wait, confident even in a situation like this, waiting like a caged lion.

“Now don’t go ahead and start making assumptions, Monster. You have a lot to answer for.” Mustang frowned. The predator gave a throaty chuckle, mechanical whirring overlaying the sound in an unsettling manner.

“I have all the time in the world, little Firefly. You are the one demanding answers.”

“Think carefully. If you do not cooperate, we’ll have little trouble dispatching you in your current state.”

“Then I will burn. But you will still know nothing more.” Ridley rolled his head along the ground, turning to fix Mustang with his other eye. “You want answers? Bring me something in return.”

Mustang could hear murmured exchanges from the soldiers behind him. They were getting nervous. This was a dangerous slope, Mustang knew that, but their prisoner seemed unlikely to respond to threats. The State Alchemist crossed his arms with a scowl.

“And what would you be getting out of the exchange.” The gleam in the monster’s eye as he uttered the next word with relish unsettled even Mustang.

“Fleshhh.”

“If you think for one moment that I’m going to sacrifice one…”

“Not your bland, pathetic meats, Human. I am looking for a meal, something I can enjoy eating for the first time since arriving on this wretched island!”

Mustang’s eyes narrowed. Ridley was dangling tidbits of information in front of him, stringing him along with an uncomfortable amount of tact. But that was something he could make do with, it proved there was a consciousness in there to understand at all. A meal, huh… He leaned his head to one side.

“Sergeant, can you have the cooks prepare one of our horses for-“

“Raw.” The Space Pirate interjected with an authority he did not actually have in the situation. Mustang’s mouth twitched in disgust, then nodded.

“That will be faster anyway.”

---​

Mustang sat on a stool with his arms crossed. A group of guards remained outside the room, but the sight of Ridley tearing into the horse’s carcass was enough that they were probably glad Mustang had sent them back outside.

“And it wasn’t even a mare…” The Space pirate smirked through bloody jaws, “You shouldn’t have.”

“Your corruption occurred at the start of this event?” Mustang ignored the monster’s jab, pressing on with his questions.

“Corruption is a very…choice word, human. But that is when I was unmade.” The Predator’s eye watched Mustang, even as it ate greedily at the horse’s flesh. It still struggled to lift its neck properly, but Mustang had staunchly refused to move the restraints, and Ridley could lift his neck enough to feast regardless.

“Karl Jak is the one that did this to you? You were not of the Unmaking before coming here?” Mustang asked, brow furrowed. If the Syntech magnate was spreading the Unmaking for the purposes of his event then… well, it might be out of his hands to even say anything at this point. Markov could hardly go about causing more economic hardships on itself right now. The Space pirate seemed uninterested in answering this question, so Mustang moved on.

“You have killed many people here on this island, the Unmaking drove you to this mindless slaughter, yet you pause to lead armies and construct fortifications, why?”

A chuckle from the predator.

“You assume wrong, little Firefly. The mage was brought to slaughter by the unmaking of his being. He succumbed swiftly in the end. I am not so weak. I slew because I wished to. I led because it brought victory.”

“Victory for who? The clown In charge of this whole charade?” Mustang noted the look of derision that crossed his captive’s face before Ridley responded.

“A mockery of conquest. It aims to remain in shadows and skulk about. A predator, but one suffused with fear.” A sly smile crept across his crocodilian features. “Much like you are afraid.”

“Indeed?” Mustang matched the monster’s smile, though his confidence was waning.

“You hide behind injuries and orders, here. Hide from truth.”

Truth.

“Ridley…” Mustang began slowly. If his guesses were correct, this would be a dangerous card to play here so openly, “Tell me of… Darkseid.”

The Space pirate gave a slow hiss. For a moment Ridley seemed to be avoiding the question, gnawing at the carcass as Mustang stewed in slowly mounting dread.

“The Fallen…” Ridley spoke eventually, “My lord. The one who wishes victory here. The one who drives us forward. The one who… inflicted… this form upon me!”

He lifted his head away from the carcass, displaying further mobility than he had previously shown himself capable of. The predator fixed his eye on Mustang directly. The singular yellow iris boring into the man’s skull unblinkingly. Mustang could see himself in its reflection.

“Our questioning comes to an end here, little Firefly.”

 

[Izaneus Phortea]

Izaneus sat idly, sketching the held form of Ridley in his sketchpad, his mind swirling with thoughts from Roy's earlier questioning. He was right. The unmade could think. Quite profoundly as well.

He scolded himself, for assuming they were mindless drones. Of course they could think. They've implemented advanced battle tactics in the past, it's not that large of a leap from assuming they can also rationalize, and think for themselves.

Then what? What held them to what they were now? What about the unmaking made you WANT to stay unmade? And what would make you want to revert?

A point of view? Forbidden knowledge?

Many a mind can be warped by either, and yet... It could bring some amount of comfort to them.

He couldn't know however, he was spitballing, guessing fervently at a topic that both perplexed and interested him.

He welcomed the challenge. And strived to discover what it MEANT to be unmade, as well as why they continued to unmake.

But first and foremost. They were a threat, and should he or his comrades be in the choice between understanding... Or death...

He closed his sketchbook with a sigh, floating it to its rightful place in his bag.

"I will kill whom I have to, to protect what I, and my comrades hold dear."

He walked away from the interrogation room, resolved with new goals in mind, and determining the best way to go about them.

He however... Sorely hoped the unmade would not claim the lives of his friends, before he could offer the life of his own in their stead.

 

[Jak]

Connor felt his teeth grind as the tower seemed like it was going to topple at any moment with everyone still in it. Just as he was about to yell orders to get out right away, the tower fell.

Dust, smoke, and coughing could be heard everywhere. Dying screams of both the unmade and my men littered the ground.

The tower had done a number on everyone but whomever planted bombs in their own tower were killing their own in taking out us.

I looked up and ran as the tower collapsed only to see the only first few seconds before the rubble covered my field of vision.

It was then I felt something digging through the remains of the tower, looking for me and “Fox (Stinky Marine). “

As soon as the rubble was pulled up and off me and Fox, we could barely feel our own bodies but there was still a chance for us to make it even though there was a rack of corpses lined up in this mess.

I looked back in horror as several bodies got pulled from the wreckage and a few men, presumably my soldiers, yelled for two medics right away. Me and Fox were in no shape to walk along with Sgt. Swift.

When I moved, the two soldiers dragged a cot toward me and put me on. Whatever morphine the good Babylon king could offer was better than anything at the moment. I tried to grin and bear the pain of burns and my past injuries. Whatever the hell it was, it wasn’t great.

The three of us were taken back to Fort Pandaemonium.

 

[Jak]

Last time I saw a medical bed, I was in a field hospital staring down Marcus and my wife’s teary eyes as I fought off an injury just like last time. But here? I’m fighting off burns, blood and possibly a bit more.

I looked over and saw “Fox” nearby, he seemed pretty injured as well.

“Fox… How are you holding up?”

Fox glared at me and didn’t say much, “Did you know we were going to be blown up, Connor?”

I glanced back at Fox and frowned, silently.

“No, Fox. But everyone involved…”

“I’m not sure what to say, Connor. You did what you could. We are but two people for the hundreds of men lost out on the field tonight.”

I still wasn’t sure as I could feel pain through my miniskirt armada uniform, still looking around, feeling pain in pushing up my body from the cot.

 

[Ridley]

Ridley’s body smoldered. His plates, the beautiful iron that had been drilled into him and it’s magical potency, had all been reduced to a large, steel coffin.

14% power, Lord Ridley. the voice beeps.

The predator snarled. For now, he’d need to conserve energy. Mustang had him in his grip for now, it was true, but wars caused many unexpected events. The officer believed he could keep Ridley in check.

He encouraged the mistake.

Roy Mustang strode into the room with his usual swagger, taking a posture that was militaristic. His uniform was clean, dapper, and his gloves were the same - to Ridley’s sight, at least, he’d seem the perfect, clean soldier, a defender of ‘justice’.

But Ridley could still see something else flitting in those eyes.

The Wyrm gave a cold smile. “Firefly.” He said simply, acknowledging the man’s presence.”

Mustang paced forward. “I’m here to continue.”

Ridley narrowed his eyes, his gaze laser-focused, but avoiding any statement.

“We noticed a lack of speech in your mens communications. How do the unmade speak to one another?”

Ridley gave a groan, as the dragon gave a low growl that could have been mistaken for a ghastly imitation of a purr.

“We understand Darkseid’s power. We know who leads. It is in our being. As is what The Dark Titan, or his leaders, wants.” Ridley responded. His tone was casual, the remark of someone ordering food.

“So you prefer not to speak.”

Ridley would give a scowl. “I prefer not to speak your tongue. It scratches the throat and irritates the lungs. Others do not care. Some won’t shut up.”

Mustang gave a look of interest and concern, but the scowl had left him. “So you would have followed another general, if Darkseid willed it.”

Now the scowl left Ridley, as he looked around the room. “...I would have always been general.” the tyrant snapped back.

Mustang’s face turned to curiosity, as an eyebrow quirked.

“...So, what is it to be Unmade?”

“Flesh.” Ridley snapped. “Order for it. Then, I will speak.”

Roy’s scowl returned immediately, but he made the order, obediently. If nothing else, Mustang seemed to understand the basics of business..

As the others left, the dragon looked Roy in the eyes, noticing that there was someone skulking in the shadows - a sketch artist, apparently.

“Cold.” Ridley would respond. “And drowned.”

Mustang’s confusion was evident on the last statement. “You felt suffocated?” he asked.

The slight puff lacked flame, but still emitted the smoke a hot dragon always must. “A moment before death. Substance lost. Intellect forgotten. base impulse and scattered emotions. No contemplation. No self-recognition.”

“But you got out at some point. What caused that?”

Ridley’s eyes narrowed. “Will.” he would respond.

Roy gave a frown, before looking at his own notes, and then looking back to Izaneus, the youth still dutifully sketching. “...So how free are you?”

“I’ve yet to rip your heart from your chest, little firefly.” the voice came out sinuous, almost sensual, from the dragon.

“One more threat and we’ll cancel that food order.” Mustang snapped, quickly. If Ridley acknowledged it, he gave no sign, and the line of questioning seemed to end there for now.

“...So, what else can you tell us of the effects of unmaking? Can we reclaim our soldiers from it?”

“The effect is irresistable.” Ridley would reply. “And this makes us unstoppable.”

Roy’s eyes would narrow sharply at that. “We’ll see about that. Our forces defeated you at the vault-”

Ridley’s response, at the allegation, was simply to laugh straight in the commanders face.

Roy’s temper was finally flared at this. “Give me something useful-”

And Ridley’s response was to smile. “Did you?” the Wyrm responded, looking the alchemist up and down.

“I saw you run with your tail behind your legs. Was losing the temple a tactical decision?” Roy would ask, maintaining a strict poker face.

“Humans are easier to fracture in victory than defeat.” Ridley responded, before looking over the former miniskirt. “It seems I caused the right effect, Commander Firefly.” The Wyrm taunted, his voice dripping with sarcasm as his eyes seemed to glow just a little brighter.

Roy’s face turned to a scowl. “So you were banking on one of us attacking the other?”

“Don’t insult me. I knew.” Ridley would respond with a harsh snap. “Humans are predictable when rewards stand in front of them - you fight like carnivores in front of meat - even when there’s enough, every single one of you wishes to be fat.”

“I’ve heard this tired rhetoric before. We’ll move on.”

Ridley would give a simple grin. “It's why the Unmaking wins this little game. Firefly was apt. Short-lived. Short-sighted.

Roy just seemed to put a hand to his head, as he opened his mouth to ask another question about the decision, but Ridley was the one to interrupt.

“You let me slaughter the helldivers on the coastline. You know this to be true.”

“This game requires us to fight one another as well as the unmaking-”

And Ridley’s grin grew broad as he watched Mustang flick through the idea, his face turning from rage, to nervousness, to something between horror and exhaustion.

“This place creates self-interest, greed, safety. A need to defeat monsters, and men. If you’d united from the beginning…”

Ridley gave a pause, before showing his teeth with a barely audible growl. “But you didn’t. And we feasted on so many souls.”

Ridley’s smile shifted. “You came here to learn how to defeat us? You’re living proof of the Crossroads weakness. The hypocrisy of the factions. You can’t even see past this little game.”

Roy’s face was unreadable for a moment, as the thoughts flitted through his mind. “And what’s past this little game?”

Ridley gave another laugh, a horrible, ear-grating sound. “How many in the crossroads hold a grudge? Those who return will not return with amnesia. Will your unity return when the game is over?”

“Some of us remember our purpose, and we’ll fight to our last breath to save our nation.”

“Yes.” the Wyrm responded. “And they died on the coast. And I still live.”

“Only for as long as I allow it.” Roy snapped, and the dragon narrowed his eyes, unintimidated by the display. His eyes were fire, now, and the cybernetic general wondered if he was really about to do it?

“Sir.” Another soldier exclaimed, entering the chamber.

“You’re missing your glove.” Ridley noted, almost casually, and the flame alchemist looked down towards his hands.

They were set to snap.

“Give him his meal. I need to prepare my next set of questions.” Roy commanded, the Lieutenant-colonel leaving in a hurry. The last moment had seemed to snap him back to reality, and once more the dutiful soldier had put on his mask of unaffected confidence. Ridley lazily watched him leave. His interest was sated, for now. The Firefly hadn’t managed to impress him, but he had entertained him.

The old Wyrm wondered just how much the Lieutenant-colonel had really understood from their little conversation… but he would only know far after the game had ended.

Still, another nuisance piqued his interest. An artist, sketching in the corner. Sketching him. he turned to leave, quickly, as his commander did, but Ridley was quick to catch his attention.

“show me.” The Unmade General snapped, lookign to the sketches.

Izaneus responded with a cautious look towards the paralyzed cyborg.

“They’re not finished yet.”

The old Wyrm considered it. What sort of deal would an idealistic artist be willing to take. A slick smile showed across the Space Dragon’s face.

“Show me… and when I leave, the firefly’s head stays attached. Do we have a deal?”

 

[Jak]

Connor sat on the edge of his hospital bed, hurting. He cursed at the notion of the unmade and to him, it was even worse. But Gilgamesh had trusted him with troops and saw them walk into a trap. That’s enough to fuck up any soldier.

I winced as the triage nurse wiped down my wounds.

But what unnerved me is that we captured a creature that looked almost identical to an actual terminator..

I saw Izarus strode by, calmly.

I was supposed to be the Legendary John Connor, cheered by many, back home I was somebody, here? Just another man.

I cautiously slipped on my babylolin miniskirt uniform even though the nurse who gave me morphine told me that I was hurt.

I fought off the pain. I had to see the cyborg for myself.

I walked the halls of Fort pandemonium and stopped when I looked at the stone doors.

I pulled them open to see my worst nightmare.

It was a dragon that looked like a terminator .

I scowled and froze in place and suddenly my ptsd kicked into action. “What the hell are you?!”

Ridley looked up, appearing in pain. “I’m surprised you don’t know me, john Connor “

I was worried. How did it know my name? Did this creature suddenly know Skynet?

Ridley had changed this from our problem to my personal problems.

Izurus looked over at Connor “are you alright?”

I was supposed to be a fearless General yet this Ridley had seen past my defenses.

I scowled, izurus didn’t know the fear I was keeping shoved down inside yet he was just asking a innocent question

I had to know. He stared at the cyborg dragon “I’m curious, you know of Skynet?”

 

[Ridley]

Ridley’s eyes fixed on the two men who had visited him, and he took a moment before answering, giving a loud puff of breath that released steam into the room.

John Connor’s face was tense. The silence frustrated the commander, clearly. Izaneus was less readable, thinking, planning behind a sweeter mask. It would have made Ridley retch if the fiend wasn’t so famished.

“Skynet.” Ridley stated. “Your profile showed your… fixation.” The metal drake taunted. “You were fearless in your openness, John Connor.” The dragon taunted. “And Darkseid appreciates an open Victim.”

“Answer my question, god damnit!” John swore, looking the Cybernetic dragon in the eye.

The Dragon narrowed his eyes.

“Everything, the warmth of life or the cold of machines made by man, falls in Darkseid’s grip…” The dragon added with a sneer.

“I’m here to make sure that the unmaking are defeated…”

“Yet you bark of Skynet.” Ridley snaps.

John’s face snaps to anger, as his hand balled into a fist. “I know what I’ve seen in the future. I won’t let it happen again.”

“And… what have you done?”

“What?”

“I’ve never seen you before.” The Dragon taunted. “What have you done to challenge us? What action in this contest stops your machine demons? What actions have you done to stop me?”

John’s face turned a beet red, and Ridley was ready for the brash commander to throw a punch - it never came.

“This conversation isn’t over, Machine!” The Resistance leader swore, before turning to leave, quickly determining that he wasn’t going to get anything useful out of the beast - at least, until he cleared his head and swallowed his temper.

Ridley’s eyes narrowed, watching him leave.

“Don’t think I’ve forgotten about you.” The drake would say, looking to Izaneus.

In response, Izaneus was the type to look around, shrug, and show him sketches. Ridley studied them closely - both his own, beautiful, pockmarked form, and every environmental detail they offered him.

“So… why do you choose to stay unmade?” Izaneus would ask. “What makes you… so bound?”

Ridley’s eye turned to him. “Why does your heart beat?”

Izaneus would turn to respond. “Well, because it’s automatic. But people can-”

“Because no one has yet stilled it.” Ridley would interrupt. “that is Unmaking. We are bound to his will as we are to the flow of time and the gravity of a star.”

Izaneus would think about that, before replying, tapping his pencil against his head a couple times, before adding, “but what about time dilation? And when you leave different planets gravity, you can lessen or strengthen the pull of gravity!” He’d point out with a curious smile, as though trying to figure something out.

“But you leave neither completely.” Ridley would respond.

Izaneus’s face bred confusion, then understanding at the dragon’s words. “You…”

“-Are a loyal servant of Darkseid.” Ridley would respond. “As I have been since the beginning of this war.”

“...You certainly are. Your name is…?” Izaneus would ask, untouched by the display.

“I am Lord Ridley.”

A quick note in cursive, and the sketch of the dragon had a name in cursive, left on the left corner of the drawing.

 

[Jak]

John now knew he had been outplayed by Ridley on his own ground. His frustration was growing. He closed his eyes, and took one long sigh before squeezing his forehead. He’d been fighting Skynet so long that when it came to the unmaking game here, he had no idea who and what he was fighting. For the short time he’d been here, even the cyborg dragon had said had repeated in the man’s head.

“Why was he here? What was he actually doing here? He was useless without a purpose.

In the midst of an artificial turf war, the most he’d proved to anyone is he knew how to lead a crew of soldiers against what, exactly?

After all, he was just another da contestant here.

The Unmaking was just another worry on his mind, but he was no closer to solving any of the dilemmas coming on his mind.

He held his side. “Damnit, damn machine getting in my mind like that.”

He realized the cyborg had gotten to him a lot more than he would have liked.

John sighed and crossed his arms, trying to search for a small database in the castle, searching for information on anyone here. He already figured out Marcus had come here. If that happened, then someone else close must have followed him.

Critical figures from his world might be interesting to meet up with eventually to tell them what he plans to do and what to do next but there were a few things he would like to do first.

John sighed, the cyborg Ridley was for crying out loud…. Right…

He’d be far too open about his own encounters that others he knew might be in danger because of him. He mentally cursed and shook off the bad feeling.

Here he was, pacing around, this close to an actual unmade cyborg that could answer his questions, if he asked them just right.

John was silent, his heart thumping but finally calmed down.

Just as he was about to enter the doors once again, a loud announcement came out loud and Karl yelled “CONGRATS TO OUR WINNERS! But wait, don’t forget about the Gauntlet…”

John eyed the door and then looked up, slightly relieved the false war was actually over. He closed his eyes and turned.

“Next time, machine… Next time… “

He turned and walked back to the door, noticing Commander Roy walking the other way.

The man turned, eye raised “Connor? What are you doing here?”

Connor smirked “I’m the machine whisperer, remember?”

Roy stared at the man “You mean you know machines?”

Connor nodded, “Yeah, like that.”

Connor frowned “Someday, I might see you again, Roy. Stay in touch, will you? It was a pleasure serving under and with you.”

After saying goodbyes to what was most of the former miniskirt armada, Connor took his leave and took the short trip to a distant fort.

As soon as he arrived near Fortress Ea, he sighed.

He walked into Gilgamesh’s throne room.

“I request access to see Ki.”

 

[Roy Mustang]

And just like that, it was finished. Mustang stood at the edge of one of the windows, leaning his forearm against the wall, and resting his forehead against it. His thoughts refused to settle into a cohesive next step. Connor had made his farewells, heading off with a purposeful stride. Mustang envied his ability to refocus on the next stage of the operation. For his part, the course of events left him with a bitter taste. The monster he had in his cells was making sense. Too much of it for his liking. A half-crazed monster who ate flesh and sought conquest was the only one who had seen the situation the same way he had. Was his position that outlandish? No, Izaneus understood his point, even the monster seemed to grasp it. It made sense. It had to.

Mustang grit his teeth, stalking through the hallway back towards Ridley’s cell. His booted cast now twinging a jolt of pain with every step. It had served well enough as a temporary measure, but the island lacked the medical facilities to perform proper long-term care. He was pretty sure that some of the bone shards had worked their way into the muscle of his shin. That would explain the pain at least. He shoved the pain aside. There was still time yet. He needed to make use of it. All of this carnage could still mean something.

Mustang strode back into the cell room, his face a stone mask. He nodded to Izaneus before settling on his reptilian captive. He had intended to begin with a confident grin, but as he spoke, even he could tell that his face was more of a grimace.

“It’s finished, monster. I’ve just received word that not only is the Unmaking all but eliminated, the Hell divers have lain down their arms as well. You have failed, general Ridley, we are victorious.”

Ridley exhaled slowly, remaining immobile there on the floor of the chamber.

“Victorious.” The predator mused, “Does the victory belong to you Firefly? Here in this cell in a corner of the island?”

Mustang scowled.

“The unmaking threat on this island has been eliminated. That is a victory.” He stated evenly, then crossed his arms.

Ridley chuckled, “You have proven your tyranny here is stronger than the carnival’s. Nothing more.”

“In the crossroads, the stakes will be much different than here in this televised farce of a conflict.” It was a weak defense; he knew even as the words left his mouth.

“Of course. The crossroads face Darkseid's full host. Not just the sliver Karl Jak felt would be safe for his island. The stakes remain what you make them.” Ridley’s eyes narrowed. “Why did you return, firefly?”

Mustang did not have an immediate answer. Who was he even attempting to convince anymore? Himself? Was he that soft? That he needed to justify his choices to others? Needed them see what he had seen? He had made the choices given to him. The consequences come to pass. Now he simply had to move forward. Without even responding to the question, Mustang turned and stalked back out of the room. The thumping of his metal boot slowly dwindled into echoes.

 

[Izaneus Phortea]

Iza blinked a few times, the reality setting in. The game was over. They'd won.

It was... A startling realization. To say the least.

"Commander." Izaneus called, as mustang passed him by. Feeling his friendship had gotten him through this game.

"Commander no longer lieutenant. What is it?" Roy replied, a twinge of frustration latent in his voice.

"Lieutenant no longer Commander" Iza played, a small smirk on his face as he let his more... Mischievous side show a bit more.

"I wanted to thank you Roy. Your lessons, your friendship, are invaluable to me. Thank you for all you've done." He stated... Genuinely,

Mustang stayed silent for a moment, before sighing, and stepping closer to Izaneus, and placing a hand on his shoulder.

"You're a good man Iza, with great potential. I hope to see you leading the charge one day, instead of following the horde." Mustang praised, trying to bring a smile to his face.

"Don't be a stranger Roy, you're a good friend to me, and I'd be heartbroken to hear you forgetting my visage." Iza played.

"That ugly mug? Ugh. Don't think I could forget it if I wanted to.. Be well Iza." To this Izaneus nodded, before remembering.

"Actually... I don't think I'm leaving just yet, there's tell of a friendly bout taking place, I think I'll join."