Limited First Movement

This RP is open, but with limitations.
An elaborate instrumental composition in three or more movements, similar in form to a sonata but written for an orchestra and usually of far grander proportions and more varied elements.​

He saw their communication in the corner of his eyes. Obsidian signaled to Lapis, who had been about to charge in on him. He was giving her an order, changing her direction. There were only two directions she could take, but Symphony knew he didn’t have time to determine which of his comrades he could help.

Because Obsidian was coming for him.

He didn’t have time to fight it. He only had time to turn and raise his wrist so that the blackness’ hand curled around his arm, instead of his neck. It would spare him some discomfort, at least, and would protect him if Obsidian attempted to choke him at the same time as the drain. He could afford to lose a wrist. His free hand made it into his bag with his gun before the contact was made.

He met Obsidian’s eyes through the shadows with neutrality. No defiance, no interest, but no disinterest, either. He couldn’t fight this, but he could see. He could observe. And if he survived – which, judging by Obsidian’s choice to remain non-lethal with Pop, was a good possibility – he could pass that information on.

For many Japanese, min’yō evokes, or is said to evoke, a nostalgia for real or imagined home towns and family.​

They needed to get away.

They’d needed to since the fight started, but the fight was the reason why they were here. What they needed was Techno back, but Lapis’s boyfriend finally got up and hopped the counter to actually follow her. Min didn’t have a choice but to watch him go as Lapis’ knife sank into her shoulder, a sharp flash of pain that she leveraged against her own moment of confusion to ground herself. It didn’t go deep. Lapis was struggling against the cushion of air between herself and Min. But it was enough that it forced Shiba into a different position, letting Min turn and catch the blow on the middle of her bo rather than her ribs.

Over on the ground, she saw Hyperpop starting to stand as Kitsune turned toward her. Pop was practically useless with everyone clustered up like this, and Min didn’t have the mobility to shield her. She’d have to take care of herself for a minute – not like Min’yo didn’t already trust her to do that. Her voice carried none of her worry, because that dissipated as quickly as it had come.

“Pop, eyes up.”

That was all the breath she could spare for their youngest fighter. She had a fight of her own to take care of, and she started with the woman who was so close she could feel her breaths on her shoulder. She closed her eyes to focus on the air around Lapis’ face, in front of her nose and mouth. It would thin as she siphoned the nitrogen off, collecting it while at the same time turning her bo on Shiba in a hard shove backed by a gust of wind. She needed space from one of them; and whether Lapis backed off on her own when she felt the thin air, or she managed to push Shiba back for a moment, didn’t matter. She just couldn’t take both of them for longer than a few seconds at a time.

A cartoonish wall of noise that embraces catchy tunes and memorable hooks. The music zooms between beauty and ugliness, as shimmery melodies collide with mangled instrumentation.​

The crack of Symphony gunshot had been more than enough to pull Pop out of her artistic daydreams. A moment after Obsidian let her go, warmth started to bleed back into her muscles. Her heart was pounding, but she was otherwise intact. She’d started to sit up when Min’s command came through.

Eyes up.

Without actually looking, she moved her hands to the sides of her head and flexed her core to pull herself into a handstand. The smell of burned linoleum brought her attention to the spot where her hands had been a second ago, and her fingers curled at the thought of that kind of burning. Finally, she looked at her attacker, her head tilting at an odd angle from upside-down.

“Let a girl take five, jeez,” she chided, like she wasn’t thinking about her skin melting off.

She fell backwards so she was back on her feet, her head never quite un-tilting. This was the person who’d said they’d had a bad week, right? Or was that the orange one? Whichever way it was, that mask was tacky as hell. And they’d made what Symph would call a “tactical error.”

They were moving away from the cluster of fighters where Hyperpop’s friends were.

She stepped back, hands raised in a loose fighting position, except that her palms were open like a karate movie. Her smile came back under the skull-grin mask, its rhinestones catching the light that was coming through the broken front windows. All she had to do was change her angle a little bit – which she was pretty sure somebody smart enough to make a ray gun would figure out – and it’d be a done fight. Sure, they had range on her, but she was fast once up. And maybe she’d get a good hit in on her way down. It’d suck if Techno had to carry both her and Symph out, but she wasn’t too worried about it.

Not that she was willing to show, anyway.

Techno tracks mainly progress over manipulation of timbral characteristics of synthesizer presets and, unlike forms of EDM that tend to be produced with synthesizer keyboards, techno does not always strictly adhere to the harmonic practice of Western music and such structures are often ignored in favor of timbral manipulation alone.​

Techno had locked Sandy in the safe behind her. Or at least, she was pretty sure it was locked. Did it have to be locked before she knocked the power out? Not that it really mattered - Sandy wasn’t going anywhere either way. Techno was just tightening the backpack around her shoulders when the gunshot went off.

Symphony wouldn’t shoot unless something big was going down.

She’d slammed the safe shut behind her and taken off at a run back down the hall. Just about two dozen feet from –

Something was coming toward her. Techno slid to a stop, her entire body tense as she flipped her useless rifle in her hand, carelessly. Her vivid purple eyes locked on the target as soon as it appeared on the other end of the dark hallway. Between her and her husband, her friends. Her teeth gritted, but there was a cruel smile in her thick Jersey voice while her eyes adjusted to the dark.

“Yer an ugly fucka, an’cha?”

She planted her feet, well aware something moving that fast wasn’t gonna stop for an insult. But a rifle butt slamming against the side of his head like a professional slugger should do the trick in the meantime.
 

Obsidian’s hand closed in around Symphony’s wrist, tight as a vice. He pulled the man in close to his shadows, just enough to see the brown of his contacts flash in the darkness. He felt and saw the smooth and even flow of Symphony’s energy. He was balanced, with no blockages, no discrepancies. Obsidian rarely found a person with such good energy. He started pulling, feeling the transfer begin.

As his cold body began to warm up, he smiled sharply from beneath his veil. The man had an average amount of energy, unlike the woman who had started the entire heist. She had been an explosion of energy, a barrel full that he knew he wouldn’t be able to drain. Just like Samantha. Just like Todd.

Unlike them, this was just a man.

“Tell me, Symphony, do you think about death?”​


Lapis could feel the knife digging deeper into the woman’s shoulder. She was pushing as hard as she could against the cushioned shield the woman had surrounded herself with. She could feel it slowly going in, inch by fucking inch.

Until all she felt was dizzy and like she couldn’t breathe.

Her opponent could control the air. She was stealing the air from Lapis. There were only so many things the woman could do to deal with this. She could back off, and duck away to clear her head. Or she could take a deep breath and hold it, driving the knife deeper into the woman’s shoulder. If she got it deep enough, and then ripped it out, there was a likelihood of the woman getting tired from blood loss.

Lapis took a gamble and drew in a deep breath and pressed on. This was likely a bad idea, but she was determined. She would do what Obsidian had instructed her to do. Pain was a good distraction.​
 

“If you leave, you can take all the time you want.” Kitsune growled, nonplussed by the girl’s show of athleticism. “You’re the assholes here.”

Normally she wasn’t this chatty, especially when she was sick. But Spork had wanted Mari to get out and talk to more people, so surely Kitsune doing more than just threatening people counted as talking, right?

It didn’t really matter, Kitsune was working with her attention split, keeping most of it on Hyperpop and the rest on Min’yo. Shiba could handle themself for the most part, but when they couldn’t, she had to step in. And she didn’t really want to turn her back on the girl with the force claps.

She noticed Pop’s movement, her eyes wrinkling at the corners. This girl was nothing but trouble. She needed to get her out of commission, and Kitsune had already shown her hand by aiming for…well for Pop’s hands. Her mind blazed at a mile a minute analyzing and throwing away possibilities. Or maybe that was just her fever burning. But something eventually clicked into place.

Kitsune flicked her thumb across the pistol, trading damage for rate of fire. She squeezed several shots off as she began to run, circling around Pop as the orange beams left singe marks on the tile floor of the bank. Feet were a lot harder to move out of the way than hands. And while Pop was busy avoiding burning her feet, Kitsune moved in for the kill.

Shifting her direction, Kitsune shot straight towards Pop, expending the last of her gun’s charge to keep her attention low. She drew her blade, pressing down on the button that started the electric current, drawing her non-dominant hand back and driving it down, looking to bury it within the soft flesh of Pop's thigh and send that current straight through her.
 

Spork isn’t having the best day. They were expecting to show up and haul Mari’s ass out of the fire, but somehow they’ve landed in the middle of a turf war with too many elements for them to keep track of. Even Miku’s Battle Mode™ of beeps and occasional position updates is getting on their nerves; there’s just too much happening all around them all the time.

They blame that for hitting Min’yo’s staff instead of her ribs, and for getting blasted off their feet by the sudden gale-force wind that comes out of nowhere. Metas. Always keep you on your toes.

The tumble isn’t that bad; after the initial surprise, they remember how to control their roll and even manage to stop themself before they hit anything. But it’s annoying, because now they’re turned around.

Gah. They’re just gonna hit whoever’s closest to them and hope it’s not Mari.

With that absolutely stellar logic, they rush full-force towards the first person Miku feeds them the location of. It’s actually two people, they realize, but neither of them are Mari or the windy person so whatever. It’s tackle time.

And then if they get a solid grasp on someone they can beat them into a bloody pulp. That always makes them feel better.

 
The rifle butt made contact with Connor's head, he didn't even move to respond. The metal made contact with Connor's head with an audible *crack*. It hurt, jut a little, a small bit of blood trickled down from where the blow hand landed. Connor growled, seemingly unfazed. He just wanted to have a nice day with Lapis, get these stupid documents from this stupid bank but these children had to ruin his day. They were like gnats, buzzing around his ear, all energy and noise. And all Connor wanted to do was swat them away.

In the distance he could hear other fighting, and something twinged in his gut. He needed to return, return to Lapis. Some primal feeling alerted him to that danger, and it only made him more angry. Someone was hurting his little gem, these insects were hurting what was his. Connor drove that fury into his muscles as he seemed to grow larger in front of his opponent. She said something, in a garbled speach that Connor could understand.

"I have no idea what you're saying," he said, far faster than someone of his size should be able to move Connor's fist was raised and he punched right square into Techno's face. He would take care of this one quickly and go help Lapis.
 
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An elaborate instrumental composition in three or more movements, similar in form to a sonata but written for an orchestra and usually of far grander proportions and more varied elements.​

Symphony had thought about dying.

It was inevitable. He was the weakest of the Resonants, besides Psychedelia. And even compared to Psych, he was the most human. His gift was a heightened human gift. A particularly talented human could imitate this. He was a man with a gun. He was a man with a knack, a weapon, and a far more powerful family. He looked into Obsidian’s dark eyes, masked under shadows. Masked more than that, too, if you were looking. No– if he, specifically, was looking. A ring of gold, right at the edges. They were wrong. They weren’t right.

Contacts. Obsidian had golden eyes, and wore dark contacts. He was like Juliette: obvious, powerful, and hiding.

The look in Symphony’s eyes was illegible. Steady, focused. Reading. He was reading Obsidian, what he could see behind the shadows. His wrist started to get cold, his muscles started to lock up, but his focus never wavered. His mind wouldn’t stop as his body slowed. He’d be rational until the second Obsidian brushed up against his life, and drank it. They were suspended there, one wrist held, the other in his bag, fingers curled around the 1911.

At the same time he finished his observations, two things happened.

One. Obsidian let go of his wrist. That didn’t change much of his situation; Symphony was still paralyzed, likely a result of his body needing to reorient the energy in his body. He’d need a few seconds. A slow breath came in. One.

Two. Orange. Kitsune’s second – Shiba. Their attention moved from Min’yo. They moved away from Min’yo, and toward him. Obsidian had let go to step aside, to move toward Min’yo. But Shiba was a force to be reckoned with. A force that wasn’t for Symphony to take on – not immediately.

Three.

There was feeling in his fingers. They tightened around the Colt. His body was releasing too slowly to dodge, but not too slowly to draw. It wouldn’t be clean. It’d be obvious. The best case would be that he got his shots off, and was lucky enough to find a bad place in the armor. The second-best case was the visibility of his weapon deterred Shiba’s attack. And the third-best case was that he at least caused some bruising before his unarmored body lost some of its structural integrity.

As he removed the weapon from his bag and pulled the trigger twice, he thought of the worst case, of course. Several versions of that case.

After all, Symphony had thought often about dying.

For many Japanese, min’yō evokes, or is said to evoke, a nostalgia for real or imagined home towns and family.​

The Resonants were in trouble. Min’yo’s family was in trouble. Kitsune was on Hyperpop. Obsidian was on Symphony. The dog was following Techno’s scent. Lapis Lazuli was on her own shoulder. When Kitsune’s bitch changed their trajectory, Min’yo took another deep breath. One that settled all of the energy in her chest, compacted it, and redistributed it with perfect symmetry.

There was a sharp pain in her shoulder. That was the first focus. That, and Obsidian. Obsidian who had moved away from Symphony to avoid Kitsune’s bitch. The weight of the knife, the weight of Obsidian moving toward her, banished any feeling, any weight. Her feet left the ground by a centimeter as she lifted the bo, and threw her whole weight into the twist.

Her body responded with muscle memory, decades of forms and behaviors ingrained into her very core. Fighting with her staff helped her to focus. Fighting at all helped her to focus, to look beyond the monster and see the shape of Obsidian as a man. A man she could turn sharply and strike hard in the side with her staff, and use the bounce of the pole off his body to twist entirely around, to shake the hand from the knife in her shoulder by leverage and physical force as she brought the staff down toward Lapis Lazuli’s head, intent on forcing the enemy back or to the ground.

Her mind unfurled, however. Opened up and spread it out, touching each molecule, each current of air around them, pulling out what she needed and channeling it into a direction. This was mental – easy as reading while walking, easy as hearing music while sparring. Her body acted in her defense. Her mind directed the air, conducted it, pushed it –

Into Kitsune. Into the one attacking Pop head-on, into the biggest threat right now, until her bitch was on Gregory. Into her mouth, into her nose, into every orifice that would allow air through, in a flow and volume that would remove her as a problem.

Permanently.

A cartoonish wall of noise that embraces catchy tunes and memorable hooks. The music zooms between beauty and ugliness, as shimmery melodies collide with mangled instrumentation.​

Bad-Week didn’t want to chat. Fair enough – they weren’t having a good time, after all. But that didn’t mean they had to ruin everybody else’s day too. And Pop knew that look. That look that seemed like just staring, but was really analyzing and counting and trying to calculate them

Evasion was Hyperpop’s best bet. She fell back, using her hands and feet in equal balance and trying to get distance from the gunfire. But it wasn’t a straight line. Getting fancy with it wasn’t what most people expected when the priority was “get away ASAP”. But getting fancy was what Pop was good at, and she added a spin to that last backspring that put her heels over head to avoid the low shot.

Bad Week seemed to realize that the gun wasn’t a good option anymore, and as Pop touched down a knife flashed out. As the air around her shifted, she moved her weight to the side. Knives didn't scare her, necessarily. Her skin was thick to avoid exploding whenever she used her clap. But she didn’t like replacing her leotards, either, and she didn’t exactly want people to know she was knife-proof.

Then again, cartwheeling across broken glass without bleeding at all would probably clue most people in. She could just clap her hands and disorient her opponent, but she was way too busing using those hands as an additional escape route. Most people couldn't flip around like Spider-Man in real life, after all, so it helped throw people off their rhythm even better than the hands thing.

She felt, rather than saw, Min helping her out from a distance. The air started to pick up, and then thin, and she paused her breathing to reset herself. Whatever the boss was doing, she knew it could be really bad for everyone here, including herself by extension. She just had the benefit of knowing how to handle whatever was coming. Lucky for her that the mask hid the wry grin that matched the bedazzled teeth, even if there was no hiding the taunt in her voice.

“Well, I guess if you insist, we should just show ourselves out.”

Her goal was simple. Keep their attention, and otherwise duck and dodge, until whatever Min was doing went into effect.

Techno tracks mainly progress over manipulation of timbral characteristics of synthesizer presets and, unlike forms of EDM that tend to be produced with synthesizer keyboards, techno does not always strictly adhere to the harmonic practice of Western music and such structures are often ignored in favor of timbral manipulation alone.​

The fist landed square in the center of Techno’s face, right near where her mask covered her nose. Normally, that kind of hit would be a one-hit KO, nature’s snooze button. Techno wasn’t built like that. She knew she wasn’t, and while it smarted, the cushioning Symphony had insisted he put under the mask itself kept her nose from being broken even from that much force. Still, she staggered back. Under the mask, however, she was grinning as she hefted the metal rifle again and looked back up at the dense monstrosity that stood between her and her husband.

“Aw, don’t tell meh – ugly an stupahd?”

She was big. He was bigger, but he was trying to use all that weight for intimidation. He could hit like a motherfucker, too, but his balance was gonna be fucky the more he tried to block her from leaving. She didn’t often have the chance to beat down someone bigger than her.

“It’s ouahlrat, ah’ll dumb it down far ya.”

Unlike Pop, who was limber, or Symph, who was smart, or Min, who was focused on a razor edge, Techno was strong. She’d always been strong, and now, this big motherfucker was gonna get it. She grinned, and then put one foot in front of the other and just started swinging. One of the shots would land lucky, or at least land hard. That was all she’d need to slip out of the ring, back to where the family was waiting for her.
 
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Honestly, Obsidian should have expected it. He’d backed off Symphony, leaving him to be taken out by the merc in yellow. It was better than killing him and risking getting taken out himself for not moving fast enough. He might be the fastest person in the room, but that didn’t mean he could avoid everything.

That fact was made suddenly and abruptly clear to him as he saw the staff in his peripheral. His eyes widened slightly in the darkness and he raised his arm, his good arm, his dominant arm, to block the blow as he turned away from it. It wasn’t going to be pretty, but at least this way it wouldn’t shatter his ribs or sternum. He could manage with a broken arm. Or at the very least, he could still function with it in a sling for a while.

The swing connected, and he heard the crack in his arm before he felt the pain radiate out from it. It sounded like a crackling, almost. But Obsidian knew his bones were paper thin and almost hollow. The doctors at Brightheart had done an excellent job in making sure that he was aware of his test results. They loved letting him know how interesting his body was. Hollowed bones that were thin so he could move as fast as he did.

The snap of his bone radiated through it like fire, but he bit back any noise. The hit pushed him, knocking him backward and several feet away. He hissed at the pain and his wrathful eyes turned to Min’yo, his shoulders flared up and back. This was going to cost her later.
​


Lapis had no choice but to let go.

She lost her knife in Min’yo’s shoulder as she stumbled back. Before she could even really recover, the staff was coming down toward her head. She froze, for just a second, but that second was too long. She couldn’t get out of the way. It was coming down too fast for her to move. She wasn’t Obsidian, even if she was faster than most. Instead, she did the only thing she could do.

She threw her hands up and over her head, bringing her head down to cover it properly. There was a single heartbeat, and then the staff hit, connecting squarely with her shoulder and raised arm. It was a solid hit, and she felt her bones creak under the strike. She spun and went down, hitting the ground hard. The combined force made her gasp sharply and loudly, a small noise of pain leaving her lips. She took in a sharp breath and looked around her. She was on her back, head toward the smaller woman.

A thought crossed Lapis’s mind, and she reached out, grabbing Min’yo’s ankle. It had been a while since she had channeled anything but pain. She could barely remember how to channel a different feeling than that or pleasure, but she closed her eyes and drew on a deep feeling she hadn’t personally felt in years. She remembered that moment of Obsidian placing his jacket around her shoulders and carrying her to a car. She remembered the feeling of him helping her get cleaned up and gently passing her an oversized t-shirt and apologizing for not having something her size. She remembered that soft but rushing feeling.

And Lapis channeled euphoria.

Maybe that would throw her off guard.​
 

Pop cartwheeled away, nimbling dodging all Kitsune’s shots. That’s fine, she wasn’t trying to hit her with them. She got in close, the knife crackling with energy, but she just kept moving out of the way. Kitsune could hear the smirk in her voice, and she lashed out with the knife again. Slashing at the air, always swiping right where Pop had been a split-second before. If only the little shit would keep still, she could stick her and then everything would be fun.

Kitsune’s breath came out in ragged gasps, rasping harshly through her filter. The air was getting harder to breath, each exhale didn’t seem to fully empty her lungs. She only noticed something was wrong when she realized her sinuses were clear: she could breath through her nose. Then she couldn’t breath at all. She couldn’t force the air out of her lungs, and more was piling in.

Fucking Min’yo.

Kitsune saw spots appearing at the edge of her vision as she stopped fighting to stab Pop. She’d gotten distracted and ignored the ringleader. With the last of her energy, Kitsune pulled out her pistol and twisted the dial to max, leveling it at the leader of the Resonants.

Then two gunshots rang out and her attention was pulled towards her partner. With no hesitation the weapon shifted and Kitsune squeezed off a shot at Symphony, at the one who would dare shoot at Spork. As the shot went off, the pistol slipped from numb fingers, her vision darkening. As Mari collapsed to the floor, slipping into the cold embrace she knew too well by this point, she wasn’t concerned with the shifting number on the back of her eyelids. Only one thing ran through her mind as Mariko Ito died, not for the first time.

She’d never told Spork about her power.

Oh well.

They’d find out soon enough.
 

One of the targets moves away. Whatever. Spork keeps charging. They can get the other one later, if they still need to. One good thing about a lot of moving elements is that they might just take each other out.

Miku beeps, alerting them to the fact that the target is armed. It’s a little late, because they’re already practically on top of him, but it gives them enough forewarning that they aren’t exactly surprised when the bullet hits their side.

And, see, that’s the thing about Kevlar. It’s not made for the kind of up-close and personal distances that Shiba works best at. It’s made to protect them when they’re standing behind Mari and she’s in the middle of a shootout. Not for point-blank range. The bullet rips right through the first layers of their uniform, slows only slightly when it encounters the vest, and lodges firmly in their side.

Spork howls, and it leaves the vocal filter distorted to something that doesn’t even sound human. There’s the sound of another shot, but it must go wide because they don’t feel another molten core take up residence in their personage. Then they’re smashing into someone who feels like a bunch of twigs. Like Mari, except it’s not Mari. Their momentum sends the both of them to the floor, and Spork would know if it was Mari because she’d be griping at them the whole way down. It’s not, they say with their fists, thudding against the person’s face and chest. It’s not. This is T-03 or whatever the fuck, and Mari is-

K-01, deceased.

The world stops turning.

Or maybe that’s just Spork, paused with one hand raised and the other fisted in the person’s shirt. For one horrible second, they think, oh shit, was it Mari? But that’s stupid. They release the target - T-05, Miku confirms - and they’re on their feet in the next moment. For once, their head is empty. Their side thrums, protesting the movement, but even that feels faint.

“Mari?” they ask over the private channel. What should follow is a stern reminder to use her codename when on the job.

Static buzzes in their ears. Miku is laying out the scene again, chirping positions and updates as they turn. They only half-hear it, because there’s only one thing they’re listening for. Surely they heard it wrong.

K-01, 35 feet, 10 o’clock, deceased.

Something fundamental, something so commonplace as to be forgettable, easily overlooked, something they didn’t even know was holding them up, snaps.

Shiba hits Min’yo like a wrecking ball. They move as if to plow right through her, their hands raising for a grab and a throw, twisting into it despite the massive amount of pain their torso must be in, when they meet resistance. If Obsidian or Lapis are underfoot, they hardly notice, their movements not taking into account any collateral damage. They could step on Lapis’ head or bash the leader of Slate and still continue their march towards their partner once everyone was out of their way.

 
Connor really missed his sword. He'd hunted using his hands before, grasping and grappling people and prey into submission and using his fangs if need be. But he was no boxer or martial artist, not like Sam. He briefly recalled her inviting Connor to her gym to properly learn hand to hand - and he really wished he'd taken her up on that offer as Techno pummeled into him. It was all Connor could do to hold his arms up in defense and just take the hits. Fortune he was well tuned to taking this kind pf physical abuse - and he wasn't completely helpless, he was able to throw a few heavy punches which he telegraphed way to hard most of the time but was able to still clip a few blows.

The egging need to go see to Lapis was distracting, his muscles tensed and her smell though distant was in his nose. If she was hurt, if she was in pain, if she was... it would be his fault. A sense of protective responsibility that Connor hadn't felt in a long time was driving him now. He snorted, growled, frustrated at not knowing what to do. He couldn't just run away from Techno, his pride and his instinct could never allow that kind of weakness to be shown - what would Todd think if he heard Connor ran away?

But then he began to notice, the posture Techno took, how she placed her feet, how she seemingly tried to step to the side and drive Connor to one side - and how her eyes glanced behind Connor back to where the rest of the fight was. She wanted to get past him, run back to her friends, in that their goal was the same. And in a spur of the moment choice Connor side stepped to allow Techno to get past him.

She readily took it, landing a blow to his jaw as she past for good measure. She whooped in delight as she ran, and Connor couldn't help his legs moving and how he fell to on all fours. His mind going blank as soon as Techno's back was turned and all he could think of was chase. He would have ran her down if he didn't immediately notice Lapis on the ground.

All his aggression faded just for moment when Connor saw her, fear, horror, and most of all rage. He smelled her, he smelled her hurt, her blood that he now saw on the back of her head. Connor felt the growl growing within him, a low rumbling that took over his whole body. His pupils dilated, his body seemed to swell. The Beast reared its head.

They hurt her. They hurt the little gem. They hurt what was his. The Beast stirred. Flesh, he smelled flesh, he smelled blood and food and prey. All of them, Connor forgot who was friend or foe. It was all just flesh to be rendered, to be torn apart. To be destroyed so nothing in the world could ever touch his flesh, his love, his mate, his Lapis.

It took everything Connor had not to give into the beast, to reign in the Bloodfury by force. He channeled his anger into a singular target, Min, who stood there over Lapis. Connor balled both his fists together and leaped forward with a roar. His fists swung towards the back of Min's head with all of his anger and fury for what was done to Lapis.
 
For many Japanese, min’yō evokes, or is said to evoke, a nostalgia for real or imagined home towns and family.​

Min’yo hadn’t expected to connect with Obsidian. Physically, she’d been braced for contact – that was how combat worked, how her muscles remembered sparring. But even as she followed through on the attack, turning to Lapis Lazuli, the vibration of his arm breaking under the staff still tingled against her palm.

It was one thing to conceptualize Kokuyōseki as a man. It was another to push him away, to damage his body, to break him so easily, as if like her, he had hollow bones.

There was no time to revel in the victory, nor was there interest. She felt the grip on the knife in her arm loosen, and then fall away as the bo made contact with Lapis’s skull. The other woman crumpled as expected, and Min had a moment to turn to meet Obsidian’s blazing gold eyes through the dark. Her own eyes showed no elation, no emotion. Just her focus, prepared for him to follow up.

There was a second. Just a second, where the elation of the hit ran through her, where she realized that in one hit, she had finally broken free. She’d broken the chain that held her in fear of the monster in the dark, her own yokai. The possessive rage in his eyes meant nothing when he couldn’t follow through on it. When she could break him so easily.

She felt, of course, the hand on her ankle, and it didn’t take much to realize that was the epicenter of the unbidden feeling. It did make it easier to push past it, though. There was no time to contemplate her small victory.

Kitsune was dead. A second victory, but one Min’yo couldn’t savor when her bitch moved to bat her aside.

In the same moment, a resonant “WHOOP!” came from the hall, followed a second later by Techno, who didn’t even pause to throw herself over the counter. She hit the ground on both feet, and then kept going until she was beside Symphony. Min only looked their way long enough to see the backpack Techno was wearing.

They had what they’d come for, then. Both the attention, and the assets. It was time to wrap up.

Something else leapt the counter, something that set its eyes on Min’yo. She caught its eye, her own losing the lax happiness of the twofold success as she made the decision to let Shiba’s arm crash against her bo.

There’s no way to resist it – not that Min wanted to resist. She was already airborne; all she had time to do, and needed to do, was pull the air around her into a tight enough shield to keep her body from being damaged as she was flung halfway across the room, opposite Obsidian, torn free from Lapis’ grasp. The glow of victory faded, but Min didn’t let her feet touch the ground. She twisted in the air, and caught herself on another barrier to keep from slamming against a wall. One of the downsides of being lightweight and aerodynamic, unfortunately.

She remained in the air, though she had to let the heavy staff catch the ground. Her arm stung where the staff was, but she used the moment to take full stock of the room. Any aggressors would be holding her accountable. That was good. Even from here, she could feel Gregory’s light breaths as Juliette dropped her useless gun to pick him up like a child. They’d need cover, as would Pop, who was looking at Min for direction, standing close by.

Min’yo took a slow, centering breath as she stirred the air again. Her eyes closed for a moment, and then reopened, meeting Techno’s gaze, and then Pop’s. She gave a small nod.

Time to go.

She set Shiba aside, in her head. Shiba had been going directly to Kitsune, which meant they only had one focus right now. That left Obsidian – with a broken arm and a burning glare – and Connor. Connor, who had come in with Lapis. Connor, who must be Obsidian’s. She thought for a few seconds about what that could mean, about what he might be. Selenite, who was clarity. Something amber, or brown; something warm, and usually cut large. Size mattered, with this one.

Topaz, maybe. Brown topaz, with eyes like that.

As she watched the creature come, she saw Pop dart aside, toward the door. Techno, with Symphony in her arms, might draw Obsidian’s attention. She’d have to keep an eye on them. As things stood, she spun the staff in her hand, and relaxed into her fighting position. Topaz’s problem was with her, not Pop. All she had to do was keep his attention, and possibly Obsidian’s.

It was almost over. Overall, their first movement in Pittsburgh had gone well. All eyes were on them for a few more seconds – on her. She braced herself to give her a finale to remember.
 

There wasn’t much that Obsidian could do with a shattered dominant arm. He could rush after her, after Selenite, and he could go for her throat. That was what his instincts were telling him to do. To put her in her place, to show her who was in charge around here. Instead, he caged those feelings. He put them in a box, refusing to give in to them, and instead did the only other thing that he could do in this situation. The only thing he should do.

When Shiba had stomped through the middle of the room, knocking Selenite out of the way and far across the room opposite him, they had almost crushed Lapis’s head beneath their heel. Lapis had only survived by rolling out of the way at the last second, making it so the boot came down on her hair instead of her face. She let out a small shriek as her head was yanked hard to the ground. The moment Shiba was past and Selenite was gone, Obsidian rushed in.

He bent down next to Lapis, wrapping his good arm around her to help her sit up. His shadows kept him hidden, thankfully not having faded when Selenite had broken his arm. He wrapped his arm around her shoulder as she leaned into him, hands feeling the back of her head. She pulled them around to reveal blood dripping down them. Obsidian could feel it sinking into his sleeve, leaving the grey suit with dark stains. He sighed and placed a gloved hand on the back of her head, trying to stem the bleeding. Her eyes looked clear, with no unusual distortion of the pupils, so as long as she stopped bleeding, she was likely going to be fine.

He turned his gaze from Lapis, where she leaned into his arm, letting his hand curl around her head, to Selenite. He let the shadows clear just enough around his eyes for them to flash at her in the darkness, like a cat in a dark alleyway or a wolf in the shadows of a forest. His eyes were full of malice, a burning anger as he tended to his Pack member’s wound. Right then, it pissed him off more than anything she had done to him. His broken arm was nearly forgotten in his anger for Lapis’s injury.

He would freeze the life out of Selenite’s body.

Already, his body ached to do so. The girl, Pop, and Symphony had been enough energy for him for the next two weeks, probably longer, but instead of feeling the buzzing high it would normally give him, he only felt a bone-deep ache to rip out Selenite’s throat. The high would come when the anger dissipated, he knew. The high would come one way or another. He was shaking from the withdrawals, from the lack of the end-of-life sparks, but that mattered so little. The rage was enough to keep him from collapsing as he did when he went hunting with Todd.

He let it all show in his eyes as he stared after Selenite, as he watched her from across the room, the purest malice radiating off him.

Fucking Selenite.​
 

Whoever they toss is too light, like they’ve wandered past unhealthily thin and turned into a human curtain. Part of Shiba wonders who it is, if it could really be the woman who’d stood her ground against their hits. That part is small, and quickly drowned by the need that fills them, the singular purpose that draws them forward. They need to get to Mari.

Mari, who it was their job to protect. Jesus, how did they fuck that up this badly? They stagger under the weight of the self-recrimination, but luckily they’re close enough by that point that they can just sort of… fall, and there’s the floor under their knees, and there’s… Mari.

They’re hesitant to touch her, because oh god what if they make it worse, but they need to get her out of here. Can they make it worse? Is she still breathing? Is her heart beating? They can’t tell through their stupid gloves, but maybe, just maybe, Miku was wrong. Maybe Miku was wrong, and they can get Mari to recalibrate it as a getting-better project.

It’s a faint, flickering hope, but it’s enough to move them forward, gingerly sliding one hand under her knees and the other under her back. Their mind settles to a faint buzz, and they waste a second or two arranging her in their arms, making sure her head is propped on their chest and her legs aren’t crossed weirdly. She’d be mad if she woke up all uncomfortable. Yeah.

Their side protests with a wave of white-hot fire when they stand, and they can’t quite muscle down the choked sound they make. God, that hurts. They ride it out, forcing their legs into motion again. One step, two step, then they grit their teeth and start running. Destination: away, and then maybe to one of Mari’s back-alley hospitals if they can get Miku to cooperate in giving them directions.

After the storm blows over, then they can see about some sweet, sweet revenge. After. Right now, all their focus is on getting out the door and down the street before anything else can go wrong.

 
For many Japanese, min’yō evokes, or is said to evoke, a nostalgia for real or imagined home towns and family.​

The door closed behind Techno and Hyperpop.

Min’yo met Kokuyōseki’s eyes. Her own dark gaze was fearless, assessing. And, perhaps, just a touch self-satisfied. She had broken him physically. Despite his rage, he had people to protect, too. He had no way to know their damage here was done for the day. Neither did the other patrons – terrified humans who had backed up to the walls of the room to avoid the metahuman clashes in the center. She scanned them as she relaxed, her slippered feet touching the glass-scattered ground as she lifted the staff, then tucked it behind her, lengthwise, as she bowed.

“On behalf of the Resonants, I would like to thank everyone for attending our first performance in Pittsburgh. We look forward to seeing you all next time.”

The door closed behind Shiba as she finished speaking. She knew she hadn’t seen the last of them; nor, of course, of Obsidian and his gems. But today was over. Techno had gotten the money. They had done their damage, and all of them had survived. That was, in her mind, a victory on every front. The consequences would come in their own time.

Today, Min’yo stood, and the door closed behind her, too. Her people were waiting.
 
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