“Stop!” Braiden yelled, clinging onto his bleeding shoulder. “You can’t do this to me!” 

JJ listened. Not from fear or respect of the terrorist leader, but pity. No, it wasn’t quite as benevolent a feeling within JJ. As he stared down at the once smiling leader of Serene, all JJ could think was how pathetic that man had become. 

And after a second, JJ saw himself, groveling about how unfair the situation was. 

JJ scowled, holding tighter to Nadja, whose arm draped over his shoulder for support. “This, coming from a guy happy with destroying my city.” 

“We’re destroying Wilkins,” Braiden said. “It had to be done.” 

The floor rumbled. The fight out in the main area seemed to be picking back up. 

“You really still think that, don’t you?” JJ asked. 

Braiden glared. “Of course! Wilkins is evil. They need to be taken down!” 

“With Nadar and Trulson tech, wearing Bona and 1001 brand clothing. All those corporations have harmed people and the land as much as, if not more than, Wilkins, either with their practices or weapons they make which literally destroys the environment.” 

“We still need to fight, to live.” 

“So, support one despotic corporation to destroy another?” 

“You don’t get it. Once we finish one fight, we’ll start another. We won’t stop until justice is served on everyone who destroys the environment.” 

“Your fanaticism will destroy you and everything you love.” Like it did me. 

“I wouldn’t do all this if I wasn’t doing good.” 

“So you let those monsters torture your ‘best friend’ because you’re doing good?” 

“I... she...” 

JJ scoffed, hoisting Nadja into a better position. “Nothing’s worth the life and safety of your best friend. Especially not a stupid endeavor made for idiotic reasons.” 

Then, JJ left Braiden, half dragging Nadja into a battleground. 

Ice hailed upon Maren. She hid behind a fallen stack of bombs, but a few pieces buffeted her back before she was completely covered. Adrenaline must be doing its job; she hadn’t even felt pain from the attack. Though, she’d definitely feel it in the morning.

Were she still around by then.

Maren knelt, listening to the ice crash into her barricade, primed for when it stopped. As it did, the ice pieces which had flown over the fallen pile redirected course and then shot toward her. 

Maren vaulted over the pile and rushed Imani. The terrorist had some larger pieces of ice swirling about her, but Maren punted the largest out of the way and then landed a solid kick on Imani’s sternum. 

The cloaked woman growled, dropping more chunks as Maren continued the assault. They slowly made their way down an aisle between stacks of bombs, exchanging blows. Maren ducked beneath a kick and moved in, but Imani continued to spin around and palmed Maren’s temple. 

Again she felt no pain, but that didn’t help her much as her neck snapped aside. She listed, but Imani wasn’t the only one who could utilize momentum. Twisting, Maren raised one leg and connected it with Imani’s neck. 

She grunted, then hit the floor. Maren slapped her palms down, spreading water beneath the two stacks on either side of her. Her back to Maren, Imani struggled, but eventually rose. Before the terrorist turned around, Maren ceased creating water and renewed the attack. 

Maren was parched, bruised, and her kicks were weaker than a few minutes ago, but she couldn’t think about that now. Water had only seeped beneath about a third of bombs. Her work was nowhere close to finished. 

“For a guy about to disappear,” Mav said, throwing a wide punch, “you’re doing pretty good.” 

“For a guy about to freeze,” Asaka said, slipping around the punch, “I’d say the same.” 

Mav pressed on, moving in and sending another slow blow, which Asaka evaded with ease. Mav had adopted Dancer Form 12: Thawing Fist. Meant for Dancers who’ve chilled themselves too much. It started off slow, then grew faster as their body warmed. It would have been perfect to replenish his heat, were it not for the others in the room. 

JJ leaped from the upper walkway, supporting a wounded tall, skinny woman. His whirling winds allowed him to land safely. Dearil, however, was directly in sight of the two. He’d thrown the occasional knife at Mav, but now he directed his next shot at JJ again. 

“Flashfire Shot!” 

All the progress of warming himself disappeared the instant the flame left Mav’s palm. Mav had meant for the shot to be a foot in diameter. It was larger than a yard. 

Gotta stop wasting my heat! 

At least it did its job. Dearil hopped away, knives still in hand, as JJ fled from the room. 

“Finally,” Asaka said, stepping close to Mav. “Dearil!” 

Mav flew toward the center of the room. Dearil shouted, raising his arms. The molten rock, as well as the pieces embedded in the wall, soared away and reconnected in the air; the shattered chunks fit back together, not even a line to mark where it had once been destroyed, while the molten lower portion returned to its original shape, the orange glow fading back to its original dull brown. It rose an inch, then began to plummet as Mav soared beneath it. 

“Flashfire Rocket!” 

Asaka was as tired as Mav, thankfully, and his push sent Mav a little too far. The gravity, plus Mav’s little explosion, let Mav clear the boulder by less than a foot before it hit the ground. Mav rolled upon landing, dust and dirt from the collision slapping his face. 

Mav would have loved to immediately hop to his feet and resume the fight. Instead, it was more of a hobble to his knees, where he immediately resumed panting, his frosty breath mingling with the dust. 

Dearil didn’t look much better. He stood, resolute, not holding his head like Asaka had, but eyes wide. Looked like he was close to being lost to time. 

It’s a stamina match, then. Mav looked at his left palm, an echo of flame flashing in his memory. I won’t lose this time. 

Mav stood, then dragged his sluggish legs forward. Dearil was recovering, shaking his head. If Mav could– 

Bang! 

A small blast reverberated through the room and Dearil stumbled. Blood splattered from his right shoulder. He glared at the base’s entrance, where JJ stood, arms shaking, pointing a rifle at Dearil. 

“Move, JJ!” Mav roared. 

JJ ran to Mav as Dearil sneered. The bullet zipped from his shoulder, stopped where JJ had been standing, then dropped to the floor with a clink. As JJ ran, Dearil flung his arm sideways and the rifle ripped itself from JJ’s grasp, following its old path until it, too, dropped to the floor near the exit. JJ hesitated, turning back slightly, and Dearil chucked a knife at him. The priest-in-training, however, soared with his winds and touched down next to Mav. 

“Help Maren,” Mav said. “I can handle this.” 

JJ glanced at Mav’s frost-coated skin. 

“Go help the little girl upstairs,” Dearil growled. “You’ll only get yourself killed here.” 

“These guys are slowing down,” Mav said. “I can handle it.” 

“Let me fan your flames,” JJ said. “My winds can’t harm these guys and your fire’s getting weaker. Let me be the wind beneath your wings, as Paul’s been for me.” 

Mav clenched his knuckles, cracking them. He couldn’t force JJ to leave, and that face – eyes glaring at Dearil, jaw set in determination – displayed his resolve. His flame. 

I’m still so pathetic. So weak! 

Fire erupted over Mav’s shoulder, freezing his core. “How many Weaver Forms do you know?” 

“Just the first,” JJ said. 

Of course. The most basic that wouldn’t be of much use fighting a professional... unless said pro was exhausted. 

“I’ll enter Sixth,” Mav said. “Back me up. And be quick.” 

“Got it.” 

Dearil had closed his eyes, but opened them to a new clarity. He seemed to have pulled himself from time’s embrace. Asaka was likely dragging himself from space, as well. 

“One last push,” Mav said.