High above the grey scalp of the slumbering Hitotsume, the air shivered not with the chiku-taku of gears, but with the sharp music of clashing wills. Two warriors hung in the ashen sky, a study in perfect, violent balance.
Paula Cupcake Pope moved with the languid grace of a goddess on a stage only she could see. Each step landed on a glowing emerald lotus that bloomed into existence a heartbeat before her boot needed it. Her six arms were a whirlwind—two wielding the massive trident Sharito in blinding thrusts and parries, two firing volleys of glowing arrows from her longbow Yanagito, one holding her ever-present pipe, the last gesturing with mocking flair. The sweet scent of lotus blossoms mixed with gunsmoke. Eyes snapped open on her palms, her shoulders, the backs of her wrists, giving her a sphere of vision no ordinary fighter could match.
Against this divine spectacle was Aurélie Nakano Takeko, a study in focused silence. Her great, semi-transparent locust wings beat the air in a controlled, rhythmic hum, carrying her in sharp, darting arcs. Her own compound eyes, multifaceted and gleaming, processed the chaotic data from Paula's many limbs and extra eyes. She saw the attack before the muscle tensed, the arrow's path before the string was released. Anathema, the black blade, was a whisper of void in her hand, meeting each emerald thrust with a clang that rang like a cracked bell, deflecting arrows with minimal shifts of her wrist. They were a locked mechanism, a deadly dance where neither could find a flaw in the other's tempo.
The equilibrium shattered with a flash of white-blue light from the plateau below.
A fraction of Paula's many eyes—the one on her left shoulder blade—darted toward the source. It was Noon Scort Reveil, a living thunderbolt, crashing into the dinosaur brothers. Her rhythm broke. The lotus platform under her right foot formed a half-second late.
Aurélie did not shout. She did not cheer. She simply acted. Seeing the microscopic stumble in Paula's aerial footwork, she folded her wings and dropped like a stone, then shot forward, Anathema aimed not at Paula, but at the space she would move into to recover.
Paula's eyes widened. She twisted hard, the black blade grazing the fur of her coat instead of finding her ribs. She shoved back with two arms, creating a burst of emerald light to force distance. Her lips pulled back from her teeth.
Aurélie landed lightly on a spinning clock gear's edge forty feet away, her silver hair settling. One sharp, silver eyebrow arched upward, the only sign of acknowledgment.
"You are a pest!" Paula snarled, the musicality gone from her voice, replaced by a grating fury. "A buzzing, mindless insect!"
"My mind is on you," Aurélie stated, her voice flat as a whetstone. She launched forward again, not allowing a moment's respite. This time her attack was a relentless series of feints and jabs, forcing Paula to use all six arms in a frantic, defensive display. Aurélie was turning the distraction into pressure, making Paula pay for that split-second of divided awareness.
Then, a twin impact shook the very air. A resonant CHIME from Maki's Haki strike and the ground-shaking THUD of Roco's kanabo connecting. From their vantage, the two women saw the Robben brothers fall—Stanislav embedded in stone, Dimitri kneeling with his pride shattered.
"No!" The word tore from Paula's throat. This was no longer a distraction; it was a collapse. Her duty, her crew, was failing. She abandoned all technique. With a raw scream, she gathered the energy of four arms and shoved it outward in a concussive wave of green force. "GET OUT OF MY WAY!
The wave hit Aurélie like a physical wall. It threw her back, her wings scrambling to catch air. She skidded across the roof of a gear tower, boots scraping metal.
Paula didn't pursue. She turned, lotus platforms flashing beneath her as she aimed to dive toward the fallen enforcers, to rally, to stem the tide.
She never made it.
A shadow passed over her. Aurélie had used the momentum of the push, riding it into a high, arcing rebound. She dropped from above, Anathema pointed down like a falling star of pure black. Paula barely brought Sharito up in a cross-block. The impact drove her down five feet, her lotus platform cracking under the strain.
Aurélie stood between her and the battlefield below, wings spread, expression unchanging. The path was blocked.
"You gnat! You chitinous plague!" Paula raged, her attacks becoming wilder, heavier, but less precise. She was fighting with anger now, not skill. "I will swat you from the sky and grind you into the dirt!"
Aurélie parried a wild trident thrust, slid under a sweeping bow strike, and riposted with a cut that sheared through the strap of Paula's quiver. "Your insults are empty," she said, the faintest hint of contempt in her tone. "Like your control."
Paula's furious eyes flicked over Aurélie's shoulder. She saw Roco, Maki, Amira, and the others turn and begin to run—not deeper into the fight, but toward the distant eastern docks. They were fleeing. They were escaping. Her allies were down, her prisoners were slipping away, and this silent, relentless woman would not let her pass.
A howl of pure frustration built in Paula's chest. She was the Giggling Scourge, the Emerald Matriarch, and she was being pinned in place by a woman who fought like a force of nature. She unleashed everything—a volley of arrows, a trident lunge, a sweeping kick—but each move was met, countered, or avoided by Aurélie's infuriating, unhurried calm. Aurélie was no longer just fighting her; she was containing her, a jailer of wings and blade.
Paula was forced to watch, utterly helpless, as the hope she was meant to crush bounded across the grey stones of Kamaten toward freedom, while her own furious, divine light was trapped in a cage of locust wings and unshakable resolve.
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