These Ladies Mean Business

Haia's referral to her choice of nickname for him, or better yet, her simple revival of it caused something inside him to visibly click, like a trigger of sorts, going off at the rate of alarm bells - but sincerely, to put up face, he'd disregard any attempt to snap at it, just as he should if he were to be brutally honest with himself. Instead, Terith sunk his teeth into the soft tissue of his lower lip, mentally killing the flame that the woman nearly lit ablaze, where it was something that all but threatened his inner tsundere to slip, as fragile as his facade was at times.

The mention of his accident, too, was neigh embarrassing for his person that he instinctively rubbed two fingers over his temple, numb with the times, where his face tightened into an expression that could only be interpreted as unmistakable guilt. He withdrew an exhale from his throat, low and guttural as he chose to meet Haia in the eye, watching the woman pose her position in the scheme of the situation as it was. Terith made a face that portrayed mild surprise, but it hadn't been her tone of voice or anything else of similar caliber. Her status as back-up hadn't fazed him the slightest, either, but what him caught him off-guard was that, out of the number of magi scattered in indefinitely over Ishval, it was Miss Starstruck who'd been selected -someone he knew to some extent, and how much more ironic and coincidental was that? If he were to admit, it was good enough for a chuckle or two.

"I am grateful." he said, tilting his head one way, as if in a small courtesy. "I just didn't expect it to be you of all people, that's all."

Prior to the little whimsical aspects of things, there were important facts to busy themselves with: their objective and the time needed to commit to it wholesomely. The swordsman would eventually gloss on over to the direction of the mansion with his eyes, the heavy gold-plated doors and the large marble pillars looming over their forms. There were possibly more to their adversary than they thought, lurking in the depths of the estate like the lapdogs they were -but no matter, they'd make do, and he had enough faith in Haia and her capability to execute what was needed.

Terith shook his head, palming the delicate webbing strewn across Kushinada's handle, noting its rigidness with grim realization. "'Fraid not," he said, relating to her inquiry of the identity of the kidnapping's head honcho, "Just some of his croonies here, the left over loons should still be inside."

"Best we head on over to the heart of it all, right?" He tipped the girl a nod, motioning over to the entrance before approaching it at a rapid step. The family's foyer was lavishly funded, where velvet almost hung off the balconies and a long, lush carpet rode up the receiving stairs, splitting into two corridors that most likely branched off into the left and right wing respectively. Ornate plants decorated the entrance, where the stretch of expensive tiles were both immaculate and polished, and these were all things shiny and gleaming, expectantly foreign for a simple man of his birthright.

Along with his arrival into the foyer came a foreboding set of sounds, most likely footsteps, that were quickly approaching their position from the left wing. Terith stiffened a little, calling out to the essence of Chiyome from the corners of his Chronicle, as if to borrow aid from the esponage mistress. She chuckled, but it was a sound that was as wistful as a breeze, her smile ethereal as she clicked her fingers. A burst of energy clouded her vessel's body for a time, enabling him to perfectly blend into his surroundings as the two remaining enemies waddled into the center of the foyer.

"Oiii, I hear there be some a ruckus in 'ere, party's o'er though." one of them said, his voice muddled over from the mask he sported. "There's not mu'h 'ere."

His compatriot offered the other a shrug, folding his arm as he scanned the area, drawing closer to the arching doors with a calculative face, eyes searching the compound with intent, "Quiet you twat!" he whispered, squinting his eyes into narrow slits, "I think I saw something."

The swordsman saw something, too, a time to act, and his spell was quickly approaching the end, so a follow-up attack needed to be ensued. Perhaps Miss Starstruck had several tricks up her sleeve, as well, and he'd only hope it wasn't anything too drastic.

Due to his prior experience with the woman and her tone of voice -between the cloistered walls of the ruins that they magically navigated without problem as his memory serves him right- it dawned on him that tackling Haia's bluntness with grit between his teeth would only end in strain for him, because as far as his adeptness to analyze people was concerned, her sort of personality called for it and there wasn't much to be considered apart from the possibility of it being an impulsive habit of her's.

Still, he'd be lying if he didn't feel a pang of resentment wash over him from her choice of words, the highs and lows of her voice appearing to clip them in a patronizing undertone. His grip on Kushinada's handle tightened a tad, knuckles paling as he urged himself that it was fine, perhaps she was just being honest, the need to retort was hardly justified.

What seemed necessary, however, was his reaction to her stunt and her brutal massacre of the pair of bandit men, where the crisp squelch of blood at her arrowheads coaxed something nasty that lurked beneath the depths of him. Initially, it would have passed as a normal surprise to her abruptness that lacked any sort of hesitance. But then.. 'it' began to grasp at his conscience, clawing at the smooth surface of the vertebrae until it perched nicely in his head, causing his body to shiver in a cold sweat.

One of the corpses made from Haia's handiwork began to roll idly towards him, beady eyes,
perhaps stern and steely when light still loomed in them, were now devoid of anything apart from a darkness that he could only interpret as a sharp and sudden death, fueled by regret before his last breaths.

There. Something snapped. Something horrid and mad, thrusting his conscience into a cramped space in his brain and taking refuge as the primary driving force of his following actions. His figure that clung to an adjacent wall would separate from the structure with an unusually straight gate, muscle taut and pensive. Kushinada's blade shook messily in his hands, desperate to return to its sheathe almost, if not in fear of the person holding unto the handle like a vice. The swordsman eyes now too, reflected an odd, dark tint as he gazed at nothing in particular, a gaze clouded over by malice.

To an outsider, there was hardly anything wrong with his solemnity, but truthfully, if it weren't for the hood draped over his face, the maniacal smile atop his face would have been more prominent.

And, what better moment to engage in combat with the enemy than now - a sentiment shared by the bandit leader who somehow managed to materialize behind the blonde, a silver muzzle aimed to his head.

"I... didn't think...you lot would catch up on that quick." he panted, implying that he was running from something, exhausted to an extent. Terith said nothing in return, and would only manage a slow and deliberate swing of his sword arm in the man's direction, though it was to his disappointment that Kushinada didn't manage to touch his enemy's solid form, cutting through air particles and ensuing a long frustrated groan to leave his throat.

"Feisty, now are we?" the leader beckoned, twirling his guns with coordination and grace as his body danced over the space in front of the blonde. If it were to be himself that fought, his response would have differed with greater magnitude, humane, even, but this...this Terith laughed and it was a crazed sound, Kushinada's shaking becoming more vocal and pronounced as the swordsman edged forward a step.

"Teleportation...magic..." he sneered, "How...exciting...~"

A fleeting expression of insanity is the first thing the bandit leader sees before a burst of blue fizzled across his vision. His confusion manifests with a boot inkling backward and his eyes a lit with unmasked surprise. Caution began to fuel the fire that singed his nerves as grand estate foyer lacked any remainder of his blonde opponent, neither sight nor sound, and that much began to egg on his frustration.

The man's body, however grandly guarded his position was before, is suddenly seen skidding across the smooth, polished floor in an abrupt display of strength from the swordsman, his person lingering behind the staircase that was nicely situated at the bandit leader's blindside. The kick he gave to the bandit's exposed back was perhaps enough to warrant him a bruise, if not for the sheer killing intent that wafted from the dark glint in his eyes. The action earns him a groan from the leader as he stabled himself with the aid of a nearby marble column,
tethering himself to the ground before shakily retrieving his weapons in a hurry.

Click came the sound of the trigger as he shot at the ground behind him, directing him forward with speed unmatched. The swordsman didn't bother to dodge, for all things odd and strange that day, and his only response to the possibility of being fed a barrel-full of lead was a reminiscent of madness sitting atop his face in the form a delirious smile.

With his body dissolving centimeters away before reaching Terith's location, the leader tilted his muzzles upward and aimed for the chandelier, causing it to crackle and dangle and sure enough, fall at dangerous speeds.

The swordsman appeared largely unfazed as his body swiveled to one side, gone the instant the expensive gold light fixing hit the stairs, staining the lavish, plush red carpet with tiny beads of sharp, broken glass. Mutilated at the thought of the adversary having the same advantage as him, the teleport wizard unloads his gun barrels entirely, with no aim to direct his shots apart from the need to corner the swordsman in a flurry of bullets.

Such defense, much to his amusement, created a chain reaction of metals ricocheting off the walls - defeating whatever purpose the other wizard had off shooting randomly, for it seemed to cage him in his own magically infused bullets. Much to his amusement, the fact hadn't come undone for the bandit leader, and the entity taking refuge in the blonde's head all but cackled in delight.

An advantage, it thought.

Moving from his spot behind the staircase, the vessel, now housing a soul of something sinister, forcibly calls upon Fujibayashi, where the spirit is largely horrified of the energy that pulled him from the Chronicle. With little lee-way to struggle, the spirit succumbs to the command, bringing Terith's body forward, his steps lined with remarkable speed, narrowly dodging most of the bullets. Though some would be able to hit his arms and graze his sides, the pain of blood trailing against his skin was relatively nonexistent - since the conscience in his head was anything but human.

Above them loomed the energy of two newly summoned Etheblade copies, hovering over the bandit leader's hands where his guns released an unprecedented amount of bullets. With a deftly timed snap of his fingers, the swords make their descend, cleanly cutting through the skin of the man's fingers and causing both his weapons and his blood to leave his palms. In an attempt to relieve the pain elsewhere, a verdant green circle manifests under his boots, signaling the opening to one of his major teleport spells which did nothing better than alarm Terith and the parasite inside him. Another click echoed through the empty halls of the foyer, sending a stray copy sword to both of the man's upper legs and feet, pinning him to his spot, agony acting as the glue as his figure wobbled from the onslaught.

"Not...done..." Terith said, a mangled voice complimenting his appearance that escalated into lunacy the further the fight continued. The leader creates a mortified expression with his face, the skin near his eyes stretching as pupils dilate in response to the fear as he spared his enemy a glance.

The swordsman was evidently matted in some dark, negative pulse that caused his eyes to turn a shade of red, blood leaking from the corners, mimicking the slither of tears down his cheeks. His mouth too, appeared to have been permanently stitched into insanity as his body lunges forward at a rapid clip, Kushinada wedged into a dangerous angle, aiming for his chest, where more copies of his holder weapon materialized around him, creating a ball of pins that confined him so delicately, like a confined animal, wailing for escape.

"Fun...." he muttered with a laugh, "Fun...~"

Terith closed a palm, almost immediately causing a chain of blood to scatter across the estate floor as the copies dig fondly into the enemy's skin. The pain is undeniable, one would say,
as the leader crumples with a litany of pain spilling from his lips in long, tearful screams.

It wouldn't have ended there, hardly could if the entity was permitted - have his head with a sharp flick of his sword. But a lady in a flowing red suit came, her gun unloading a bullet in such accuracy that it managed to peel the Etherblade from his bloodied hands. He wasn't given enough room to react properly, since a strong blow to his head caused his eyeballs to curve backward into his head, clouding his mind with the peaceful color of unconsciousness.

The cling of madness somehow escapes him with that hit, giving way to him properly registering the last bits of reality he'd experience before being lulled into a dreamless slumber.

"That's enough, Monsieur Torian."


What greets him when he wakes is the frothy feeling of energy coursing through his veins, a magic circle, glowing white, circling his body, though it didn't seem to sport intentions that would alarm him on the get-go. Instead, a soothing feeling that could only be done with a healing spell willfully tried to ensure him out of his daze. Above him was a dull, gray ceiling, highly different from the gold-crested domes of the mansion he had occupied earlier. The atmosphere was pleasingly different, too -a curtain draping over the sides that separated him from the other parts of the room, a bed where his body was sprawled out evenly with a generous amount of bandages, a table of medical supplies, and solitary window to his right. Beyond it, night lurked well into the eves.

"You're awake Monsieur." he heard a woman say, so much scarlet filling his vision, "The deed is done. We've managed to save the family thanks to you and your partner's efforts."

His voice is strained in his throat, for he couldn't manage many words apart from the occasional squeak, as if the structure close to his vocal chords were scratched violently with overuse.

Atma shook her head, relieving her hand from the swordsman's chest, undoing the white circle in the process. "You did quite a number on their leader, if I may attest...but perhaps a little too much. Must you go so far to punish him, dear sir?"

Terith's brow knits together in confusion, with a slow blinking motion to further compliment his unknowing response.

The musketeer lends the swordsman a brazen stare, searching him for any sign of hesitance before realizing the futility of the bout, seeing nothing but sincere bewilderment on his part. "So you've no recollection of your reckless encounter...perhaps that's for the best." she said, "Rest easy Monsieur, our fellowmen have gathered at the mansion to extract the remaining bandits. If at all, take this as a memory for this night."

Slender fingers would weave a soft, clean fabric fabric into his soiled hands, the green coloring making his eyes squint just a bit. It hadn't any fancy clippings or extravagant frills,
but it looked decent enough to portray the decency of a musketeer trainee.

"One of our own, you see, it was Portha's idea to hand it to you. Consider it a token of our gratitude and...something to replace your current attire."

He didn't notice just how battered and blue he was until the woman mentioned so, awakening the pain that slept along with nerves with a jolt that sent him groaning.

Atma huffs, albeit in a near-chuckling manner. "Your partner, that girl with the interesting hair,
has one too. Both of you do, for having aided us in our mission to recover the hostages."
she whispered.

"Now, please continue your sleep. The morn would greet you with your scheduled departure and our salutes waving you goodbye and our hearts-...."

Before the red-head's monologue dragged on long enough, Terith made a bee-line for the dreams he should've had, but meets nothing but silence as he retreats back into his own thoughts. Where were his spirits, beckoning him, pestering him, even?

Ah. Who knew, what mattered now was spending the remaining hours of night with rest. 'Tomorrow,' he thought to himself, 'Tomorrow...maybe...I'll remember.'

Not even his dreams provided him the answer to the questions that haunted him so.