MISSION: The Rise of Dietrich and the Clash of Briggs

Isabella glares over at the Lieutenant, glad that he referred to her correctly, but angry that he hadn’t kept up with the details of the situation. “Might I remind you, Lieutenant, that you don’t have the authority to give me an order, especially not on the battlefield.” She sighs softly, rubbing her temples. “We appear to be gaining an edge on them. The general, in all his wisdom, has decided to leave the small job of coordinating the entire defensive line to just my department, so I think we’ll turn out fine.” Pointing her thumb at her newest recruit, she adds, ”Although he might not look it, I get the feeling that that kid has more common sense then the general, though how much is debatable.”

The private grumbles under his breath, but one of the more senior members of her staff punches him in the shoulder, making Isabella grin for once.

Shaking the cobwebs out of her head, she turns back towards the liason from East City, who… seemed to be focusing far too much on her chest. With a sigh, she approaches Lyte, and forcefully tilts his head up.

”I won’t deny that you can look all you want little boy,” she says to Lyte in the foreign language rather venomously, ”but this is a battlefield, a place where people die, and no one questions how or why.” Her gloves generate alchemic sparks once more as she pushes him to the side. “Organize your troops. Whatever you have, whatever you’ve brought, I want it brought to bear.” Glancing back at Lyte, she adds, “And I mean everything.”

Not noticing the Lieutenant leave, she starts at the board, watching the figures shift and move, one after the other. Taking in a deep breath, she sighed slowly, calming herself for what was to come.

“Just advance your troops. Push them and let West get pushed back. Look for weaknesses, and take advantage of them. That’s what war’s about, testing and finding out the weaknesses of the moment.” looking back at light, she tilts her head. ”You are trained for this, right?” She chuckles. ”Because, if not, then you’re getting a crash course from a pencil-pusher. Just stay in contact with Western HQ here, and take advantage of the information they give you. And maybe follow the alchemist’s lead on this one.”

Taking out her fan, sparks generate around her as she begins running off at a rapid pace. Sticking behind the frontlines, she listened to the chatter between the lieutenant and general. ”Evac of the city should be over by now, General Black. Although, I might point out that I don’t believe in faith, sir. Just ability.” She wasn’t one for words, and she had to stop him talking anyway. There was too much comm. Chatter for her to deal with. Too many movements, too much action.

Arriving at the rock formation, she notes that the troops there are indeed the Luna Wolves. Their XO was attempting to coordinate the men, apparently distraught over the absence of her. She stood within earshot, listening to the man’s plan with a fox-ish grin. ”Can’t let you do that, Luna Wolves,” she interrupts, cracking her knuckles as she approaches them. They crack a small salute, and she returns it. ”We’re following a simple battleplan: breaking through the enemy line.” Worming her way through the crowd, cursing in spanish in the process, she points at the map. ”They’re fortifying this position. I’d like to know why. And the leader of Briggs has taken an interest in this section as well. When she strikes, we’ll make our move. Fan out and flank the Royal Task Force. We’ll bring more power to bear this way.”

The Luna Wolves XO nods, and the other soldiers begin readying up. Isabella stands proudly, finding comfort in the chaotic nature of the battle. For once in a long time, she was smiling because she was having fun.

Dietrich brought his sword to bear against an ice “tentacle,” though perhaps that wasn’t the right word. It fell to the ground and shattered into a countless number of pieces, much like the Amestrians thought they were doing to the Royal Task Force. He sighs, growing weary of this game. Looking over the reports, his forces were doing far better than predicted, especially the Northern Advance.

A warning popped up on his lens, something about barometric pressure and all. He was honestly unphased by this point, disappointed at what the Amestrians had to offer. ”Execute Order 42,” he says in a grim tone. It was time to start the real battle.

Several seconds later, he heard the explosions from the Reaper artillery, followed shortly after the sonic booms that the rounds emitted. And this was just the start. All across the line, the Royal Task Force had begun their attempt at ruthless extermination of the Amestrian forces. The big guns had been brought to bear, and Dietrich had lost his mercy for his neighbors. He had the time, the resources, and the patience to rebuild Amestris into what he needed it to become. But that wouldn’t occur if the fools thought they were taking on the RTF so easily. Speaking of which. It appeared some were pushing through the gap that second tornado had created. Not due to casualties as much as scattering, as his forces were better prepared this time. Still, enemy forces were pushing elsewhere along the line as well, and if this segment were to prove overly successful…

”Close the gap immediately,” he says over the RTF general frequency. ”I want them obliterated to nothing more than ash.”

He watched on his lens for a few minutes, watching the push-and-pull of the battle at large. He paid particular note to special markers for Generals Jet and Tsukino, Pride, and the mysterious man wreaking havoc behind enemy lines. They seemed to forget the large-picture, the metagame, if one would view it as such. Certainly they were winning their battles, but at what cost?

”About equal to the gains,” he mutters, looking over the details collected thus far. He couldn’t deny that what they did was devastating, even a hindrance to his own goals. He yawns, growing quite bored of just observing. He was smarter than the generals, revealing themselves on the battlefield, open to attacks. They were too sure of themselves, too cocky, lacked restraint. Win the battle at any cost, as long as it was for the right cause?

Dietrich’s train of thought was interrupted from a tank firing its gauss cannon. Finally noticing the medium-threat target advancing towards his position, he looks up as sees a young woman running towards his position. He noted in particular her blond hair and dark skin. “An Esparian?” he thinks as he begins to notice her odd gait, one hand sticking to her hip. And then he noticed the sparks of alchemy around her. ”Let’s see if they marked this one correctly…”

”I’ll handle this pest,” he says to the guards nearby him. Watching her, he notes that she’s sporting several scrapes, scratches, cuts, and bruises, though such a fact seemed to be of little concern to her as she continued on.

Within moments, she was meters in front of him, reaching out at him with one of her hands, the other reaching to her belt as the sparks dissipated. Sliding to a stop, Dietrich takes a swing at her with his off-hand, only for her deflect it and take a step back. ”Do you know who you’re dealing with, little girl?” he asks, looking at the woman. Those copper eyes of her intrigued him, lacking the coldness of a killer or warrior, but instead set on something far-away. She charged him again, stepping in and out of his range, taking swings, but never fully committing. She was teasing him, encouraging him to attack. ”It appears as though your ignorance has gotten the better of you,” he says, finally bringing his sword to bare. He begins swinging, forcing the alchemist to start fighting defensively than offensively. ”I am Lord Dietrich, King and Pr-“

”Prime Minister of Creta, leader of the Royal Task Force,” she interrupts in Cretan, avoiding his swipes. Her tone was rather dull, lacking, as though she weren’t excited to be spoken to directly by a king. The nerve! ”And I’d say that you’re not the only ignorant one here,” she adds with a grin, narrowly avoiding his swipe, getting close and pressing her palm against his chest plate. Her glove sent off countless sparks as Dietrich was thrown backwards by an invisible force. Regaining his balance, he was welcomed back to the fight with the woman flying into him, airborne, her left hand gripping around his neck tightly as the force of her flying into him knocks him over. Again, the sparks start forming, and soon he feels as though the air is being sucked out of his lungs. With a kick and a swing of his sword, the woman backs off of him, allowing him to catch his breath once more. Getting back up on his knee, he hears the incessant crackling of energy yet again, this time forming around him in a hemisphere. Not wanting to learn what would happen, he quickly rolls out of the area before the air distorted for just a moment, creating a sort of low “thump” sound.

Up on both feet again, he charged the woman, who had taken a defensive stance, wielding little more than her fists and a fan. When he got close she dodges him completely, and swung her fan in a large motion. Yet again, he felt himself getting pushed back, but it was weaker this time. And, yet again, she charged.

Dietrich frowns, continuing to play this girl’s game. His patience was wearing thin, which was exasperated by the fact she started to fall into a few different routines. But that’s what she wanted, wasn’t it? The more angry he gets, the more it clouds his decisions, and the more likely he is to make a mistake. No, he couldn’t give her the satisfaction.

”You are but a child, aren’t you?” he asks, deciding to play a game of his own. He had toyed around with her enough as it is. ”You cannot have your way, so you seek to squeeze every ounce of entertainment from me you can. But do you know what happens to children that misbehave?”

”Humor me,” the woman replies, taking another swing with her left arm. And there it was.

Swiftly, he grabs her by the wrist before she can touch him, noticing her second mistake as she struggles: bringing her right arm to bear. With a fluid motion, his sword pierces through her shoulder like a hot knife through soft butter, her arm going limp, her hand letting go of her prized fan. The woman’s eyes suddenly come into focus with the world around her as she screams out in agony, cursing in a foreign language. ”I’m afraid I’m not familiar with that dialect of Espairan,” he quips, twisting the blade in her shoulder slightly. ”Then again, I don’t know enough of the language to begin with. Regardless of the language you prefer to curse in, be it Esparian, Cretan, Amestrian, or even some infernal tongue, I assure you this: children that misbehave lose their toys. Think about that before you decide to use your other arm.”

He looked down at the woman, breathing heavily, biting her lip to prevent herself from cursing more, and therefore embarrassing herself further. ”This is your radio, right?” he asks, tapping what he considered a relic. The question, of course, was rhetorical, and he sensed that the woman either understood that or was refusing to speak. Either way, he picked it up with his free hand, being careful not to cause too much pain to the woman. ”And this is to broadcast, right?” he asks with a grin, having already pressed the button. He took a moment to clear his throat, pondering over the proper wording of the situation.

”Greetings, Amestris. This is Lord Dietrich speaking, along with… I never got your name, actually.”

”Go die in a hole, you fucking bas- ¡Dios mio, maldición él al infierno!”

”I swear, if you keep moving like this, you’ll cut it off yourself,” he says honestly and adding a concerned tone, though the truth of the matter was that he didn’t care about the woman’s arm, especially if she was doing the damage herself. ”Now, be a good lass and tell them your name, alright?”

”M-Major Isabella Galica, Head of Military Intelligence for West HQ.”

Dietrich looks at her, raising an eyebrow. ”Oh, so you were the one responsible for all the snooping around? I do say, bravo, but you might want to do so more… discretely next time, my dear Galicia.” He chuckles. ”Anyway, the major here has run into me during one of my better moods of the day so far, but I’m afraid that it might not last too long. She seems to understand the situation she’s in, and is cooperating for the moment…”

“¡Pare el torcer de él!”

”Oh hush, now, I haven’t done anything… Anyway, I’m afraid that the major is losing a good bit of blood, and could use some medical attention. Perhaps General Black or Tsukino would be interested in picking her up? I’d offer her medical help, but I’m afraid that you Amestrians don’t seem care too much if they harm non-combatant doctors and nurses. A real shame, if I do say so myself, Major. Don’t you agree? But I digress. I expect to hear an answer shortly.”

As Isabella grumbles, holding back tears of pain, Dietrich lets go of the broadcast button on the radio. It wouldn’t be fair to the Amestrians if he didn’t hear their response, now did they?

((Disclaimer: Any and all Spanish is translated... poorly. Just don't try to translate it back into English.))

Her lips met his and their tongues began their own conversation until finally disinterring from one another. He nodded as if he understood everything and watched as her military uniform slid to the cement floor, revealing a rather skimpy outfit in which he preferred more. Running his warm, leather hands along her back, he pulled away and faced the large monitor whose light filled the dark basement. A curl of a smile lathered onto his lips as his fingers were pulled to the keys beneath the screen. He pressed a few buttons and instantly he was connected to a specific frequency that was hooked up to Lyte's radio in West City where a war was currently being waged. "Lyte," Aurel breathed in venomous tones, "in an hour I will activate them. Until then, I wish to know what is happening, got it?" His hands drifted away from the keys and ran along Hild's nearly exposed chest, making indents in her soft skin. He felt her shiver slightly under his entrancing touch and then pulled her face roughly towards him, planting kisses along her neck. Aurel's breath was hot against her, gathering moisture along pearly skin. He felt himself move from the chair and press his body into her, a callous grin forming over his features. "It's so soon," he whispered as he dropped his own military uniform to the floor where it meshed with hers.

He only had on a pair of tight leather pants and a studded belt; no shirt was needed for this occasion. Plus, the air conditioning wasn't working. His grin transformed into a genius smirk. He knew what shirtless men did to women. It was simply a matter of common chemistry...no where near as complex as alchemy. He replaced his hands on Hild, gliding one down her back and over her hips. The other slipped inside her shorts and played with the thin garment lying beneath. Mismatched eyes narrowed in anticipation while his ears rung from the radio silence protruding from the monitor. Lyte hadn't responded...not yet at least. He spared a glance at the black button that would change the world, but soon allowed his gaze to drift back to the cerulean blue button that had already changed his.

All inna dayz work, but goddamn he was tired. The playboy slugged his way out of the jeep, ducking under the rattles of ammunition and gun fire and into the tent that was designated for Central personal when they actually made it to the scene, which they just so happened to. He collapsed into a chair and sighed through both his hands, shutting exhausted emerald eyes to keep them from burning. They had successfully regained South City. Spade Aeries had finally won back Amestrian land that the Aerugese bastards had stolen long ago. It was our crater anyway dammit! He dropped his hands and clenched them into fists, letting his head loll off to the side.

Josef Draper was dead.

It echoed faintly in his mind with each pained stroke of his heart. And another one gone, and another one gone. Another one bites the dust. Life sucked. But Josef didn't deserve to die so young... Spade's responsibilities were dwindling--his friends were dying--his days were numbered. It was only a matter of time. Maybe now...maybe now he would go join the others. The scene was still so vivid in his head--the thrashes of colors spewing about all recollection he had ever had. The man named Raistlin Ambros was the menacing Aerugese commander and he had been the one to kill the boy. One stroke...was all it took. Spade saw it out of the corner of his eye. He had just felled one of the many insanely skilled ninjas when a splay of blood slathered him and a few blue-clad soldiers behind him. Josef let out a burst of noise hardly human and crashed to the brown-stained grass in a heap of bleeding flesh. Spade didn't even know his legs were moving until he heard a gun shot that forced him to stop short. ...What little hope of saving Josef was now gone with the bullet that slammed into that smart skull of his. No longer. No longer.

He felt a feral snarl leave his throat and time stopped, well, it did for Raistlin. Spade had a moment, only a short alchemic moment to kill him. But the brunette was already so far away from them, that by the time the man's perception came back to him, Spade had just barely released his trademark web of steel wires. They missed their target when Raistlin moved. Red eyes regained their images, meeting fiery green thirsting for revenge. The katana swung; Spade yanked his wires. And the arm fell off.

"RETREATTT, RETREATTT! Lord Raistlin's arm has been severed!"

Spade reeked of metal: blood, steel, gunpowder. War was constituted on metal--metal and death...screams and more death.

"Uh sir? Orders Spade Aeries, sir!"

Spade looked up into the soldier's eyes and let a lopsided smile fall onto his lips. There was still more to protect. "I'm on it." He stood onto weary legs and grabbed his radio. "Brigadier General Jethro Black this is Brigadier General Spade Aeries reporting from South City. We have regained the area and are seeking knowledge of the situation. What are your orders?

Well, at least South City had a pretty little troop of Central soldiers left behind. Greene would surely protect the South with his life. And well...they sort of turned it into a rather large...pool. Hello ladies and good bye colonization. Now, all they had to worry about was losing West City to Creta. Yeah, that's all, heh heh... God, life really did suck.

The sounds resounded around his head, as the redheaded Alchemist bowed down towards Dietrich once more. A small smile crossed his face, and he stood back up again, looking out over the battlefield. Briggs, his enemy. He turned back, and walked towards the caravans, picking up a few steel poles with a sigh. They would make good weapons, as well as good explosives, if need be. He smiled softly, remembering the first time he had used this strategy. Why... did he remember that so fondly? It was back at Briggs... He shook his head, and sighed. No, Briggs was his enemy.

Why does that sound so unnatural in my mind?

Huehuehuehuehue... Eh? He turned sharply, but saw nothing. What... was that? The redheaded man blinked a few times, and sighed. No, it was probably nothing. He closed his eyes, and slid the poles into his pants with a yawn. He needed to get some sleep... With a small shake of his head, Daigoro Ito continued his trip towards the front lines. He needed to kill some of these soldiers, these bugs on the face of the planet. His steps crunched on the soil, and he stepped out in front of them.

Why does this feel so wrong?

Geheheheh... Huh? He was distracted for but a second, when a shout of "TRAITOR!" caused him to turn back in a sudden, sharp motion. What? Crap! He stepped forwards, in an attempt to cross paths with the soldier that had raised the butt of his rifle to try and knock Dai out. He grimaced, and reached out with his right hand, gripping the man's face in the steel. He grinned and placed a gloved hand onto the transmutation circle that was etched into the automail. The Alchemy activated, and instantly froze all of the blood in the man's body below freezing point - a process known as "snap-freezing". The man didn't even have time to scream, and Dai dropped the frozen and lifeless body to the ground.

Why does the air smell of blood?

Kukuku... That again?! He grimaced, but heard the shout of "Fire on the traitor!" There were certainly times that Dai was happy that soldiers announced their tactics to the others, and so he clicked his fingers, preparing his static electricity in the glove. In the split second that he had it ready, it suddenly moved the electrons in his charged glove, and expanded the electromagnetic field that normally surrounded his body. The strengthened field was enough for Dai to be able to catch the stream of bullets that were suddenly fired at him. He stared at the soldiers through the bullets that swum around him, and his eyes narrowed in contempt.

Why do I taste my own defeat here?

Bahaha... Damnit! The redhead drew one of the staves from his pants, holding it akin to a normal staff. A few of the soldiers ran at him, and he spun around, knocking them down, moving through and around in fluid motions, knocking out each soldier as he went. They may be dogs, but they were taking their orders. So he didn't feel the contempt to actually kill them. A few more soldiers were knocked out, and Dai proceeded to click his fingers again, magnetizing the staff to the point of instability. He grinned widely, and dropped it into the ground, before retreating. A second later, the staff exploded, sending shrapnel around them. He escaped from the soldiers, and jumped back into the no-man's land.

Why does everything that I see... look so wrong?

Mwahahahahahaha... Kuh. He knelt down and screamed. All of his senses... they were NOT lying to him!

"GET OUT OF MY HEAD!" The redhead was kneeling there, grimacing, breathing heavily, sweating... He stood up, and breathed out. Okay. He had his composure once more. There was nothing wrong with him, nothing wrong at all...

He twitched, and turned around suddenly, seeing the man streaming through soldiers. Even his eyes recognized the white hair. Murazar. He drew another staff, his last one, and ran straight through the Cretan soldiers, holding the staff and throwing it like a javelin at the man. He would open with aggression.

Hild felt the warmth of the leather fingers run up her back and breathed out, letting her back arch and her eyes close from the feeling. Ohh, his touch... She smiled softly, and whined when his hands left her back. Whyyy? She watched him pull away with a sad eye, seeing him do whatever he was doing in that radio.

"Lyte, in an hour I will activate them. Until then, I wish to know what is happening, got it?" Oho, their plan was on it's way to completion... The woman's eye tracked Aurel's body, and then closed when he placed his hand on her skin again. She shuddered from his touch, and whimpered. She was pulled in closer to him, and placed her body against his, letting each of her curves mingle with his.

She lifted her face as the feeling of his lips against her neck, and let out breaths tinged with pleasure. She loved him...

"It's so soon," She felt his own uniform drop the the ground, and smiled softly, stepping back to see what he would be wearing with a small smile on her face. She moved her body close to his, letting her pale skin touch his, pressing their bodies together in the darkness. The woman smiled softly, breathing deeply from his touches. God, she had never felt his hands on her body like this before... The hand slipped into her shorts and began to play with her undergarments... A small grin crossed her lips, and she moved her face into his chest, kissing softly against the bare skin. Her mouth opened, breathing across his flesh. She then pressed closer, biting on the flesh with a smile on her face. Her left hand moved up his side, and her right hand slid down his back, softly feeling the muscle at the top of her legs... Her voice came out, barely a whisper.

"Together... forever..."

Jet watched as the enemy rail guns began bombarding the front lines, but importantly tearing his troops apart. They were bringing out the big guns. Jet, was not happy. "Artillery, Earthshaker rounds approved. Focus fire on TK421 on my mark, mark!" Jet yelled into the comms, dropping his raised hand the moment he said mark. Suddenly, as if on cue, deep rumbling in the background turned into screaming heavy rounds, pounding into the enemy lines with incredible accuracy. "Armored divisions, speartip formations. Light vehicles, watch their backs. I want air support blowing their lines to hell!" Jet waited for the ready signal, then stood up from his trench and turned to his troops, sword raised in the air. "Brothers! Sisters! It's time to show the Cretans why they don't mess with Amestris! They've tried time and time again to take this border, and every time we've sent them back to whence they came! This time is no different, they will lose, and we will win! Charge! In the name of Amestris, and for the state! Charge!" And with that, he turned and ran towards the enemy, who was currently hunkered down from the concentrated barrage from Amestrian artillery.

General Black hit the Cretan lines like Hell's fury had been released. He blasted a trooper away with air, slashing another nearly in two with Raven, his families great sword. By his side, his loyal Honor Guard slayed countless Cretans. Jethro looked at his feet, the soil he stood in drenched in the blood of his enemies. He grinned as he saw all across the line the Amestrian forces were pressing the Cretans. A message from General Reila came through, immediately followed by one from the Central Army with news of victory in South City. "General Tsukino, follow my lead and I'll take you right where you need to go. General Aeries, it's great to hear we've won down there. If you have the ability or the time, we could use your help taking our border back. I've got coordinates on their way, please hurry. Black out," Jet said over the command channel while slicing through the sergeant of a Cretan squad. God this felt good.

Jet's good time slammed to a halt in a second when he heard Dietrich over the comms. Then his eyes locked onto the man a decent distance away. "Honor Guard, watch my back, I'm going in." Black walked towards Dietrich, sword pointed at the leader of Creta. "Let her go you fiend!" Jet yelled over the battle noise.

Cironis blew away Cretan soldiers as they came, taking cover only long enough to avoid enemy fire or reload. His rifle thudding against the metal of his shoulder as the hammer hit the pin on the bullet, setting off the gunpowder that projected the bullet out of the chamber through the barrel, and into the fleshy bits of enemy targets, the pressure from the rapid burning gunpowder blowing backwards to chamber the next round, the excess being transferred into the rigid metal of Cironis' automail. This process repeated 30 more times before Cironis had to replace the magazine. And then he heard it... That smug bastard... And Isabella tried to take him alone?! Cironis growled. Like hell... He was NOT going to have someone dying on him already!

Cironis leaped up from his position, surprising the nearby soldiers, "Stay there!" He ordered them as he started running through the terrain, shooting anyone who got in his way, until he ran out of ammo. He dropped the magazine, and simply started bayoneting and shoulder-rushing until he could see his objective. He tossed the rifle aside, useless being empty, and cumbersome around his shoulder. It was time to do something stupid...

Acra cringed as the stench of cooking flesh hit his nose. The one thing he hated about his alchemy was the smell it made. He saw the pair of gloves he was wearing slip off with the footman who he put down. The guy would be writhing on the ground unable to move until someone came to pick him up at least. Shoving his hands in his pockets he pulled out another pair of gloves. 'At least I'm prepared.....' He taught happily as he took off.

His eyes scanned round the area for anyone who looked in need of help or someone who needed to be dealt with. Grunting slightly he took out his radio hoarsely calling out to Spade. " Brigadier!!!" He called into it while avoiding fire using a wall of pure heat. " Brigadier!!! It's Acra here!" Licking his lips he took a step into an alley hoping for some answer while avoiding fire. "Where do you wa-" Pain flew up his side like boiling hot fire. He grunted and the radio slipped from his fingers as his hand went to his side. Blood trickled between his fingers. He had been shot. Looking up to a random Cretan infantry man coming towards him armed with a pistol he snarled. "Back off....or i will put you through more pain then you can imagine." Hissing back the pain he try to stop it from showing in his speech. The man stepped closer and he grinned. Rubbing his hands together he sent a blast of heat into the man's face. It would be a painful slow death for the non alchemist. But the hit had destroyed the cotton gloves burning the skin of his hand. Slouching to the floor he sighed softly. Cooking flesh and burning blood putrefied his nose causing him to gag slightly. Shakily he took his radio up. "I...shouldn't have to deal with this...I'm rich..." Licking his now cracked and dry lips he clicked the radio to transmit. "Major Acra Schiwatas reporting in....I'm down...." His arm flopped to the side. He was drained and his side was in searing pain as was his hands. All he could do was hope someone heard him and hurried up. And that someone be friendly.

Vincent twisted his halberd inside the man on the ground, killing him outright. That was at least the 30th man he'd killed today, and it was too easy. They didn't stand a chance against Vince, he was just too good. The Grey Knight pulled the blade from the body and turned, ready for another opponent. There were none though, all had either fled or died at his blade. "Too easy, I need more satisfying opponents," Jet mumbled to himself. Suddenly over the comms he heard Acra's message. Vincent looked around, trying to see him through the smog and smoke. There! He saw him in the distance, fallen to the ground from what must be a serious wound. Alexander ran towards him, eyes scanning for enemies that would dare stand in his way. The snap of bullets flying by caught the knights attention, rolling as a few panged off of his armor. Now kneeling down, Vincent brought his twin-linked wrist mounted gun to bear, shredding the man who had been firing at him in a matter of seconds with explosive rounds.

Several more men with rifles appeared through the smoke, all with despair and fear in their eyes at the sight of the Grey Knight. Vince, using his alchemy, transformed his gun into a minigun, tearing the troops to shreds before they could raise their rifles. With smoke drifting from the multiple barrels that were now Vincents arms, he walked towards one of the men who was still alive. He raised his halberd, ready to strike him down. "Find peace with the Gods," he said as he swung the blade, slicing the mans head from his body in one clean slice. Vince continued to Acra, approaching with concerned eyes behind the almost skull-like helmet he wore. "Are you ok my friend? Head of Military Operations Vincent Grey Alexander at your service," Vince said, bowing his head slightly.

Jay stood amidst the blood and gore as Central arrived. This was her first big war since rejoining, and she was ready. It was perfect for her extreme hatred of Creta. She immediately whipped out her minigun, assembled it, and charged into battle, blitzing any poor enemy caught in her wrath to a bloody mess. "DIE CRETARIAN SCUM!!" As her ammo cap lowered, she re holstered it's parts, and unsheathed her Xerxian Jade katana, a masterpiece of it's art. She then began her kata, slashing sldiers down left and right, fighting her way through the crowds of Cretarian. Eventually, she landed herself near Head of Military Ops, Vincent and Acra.

She noticed, with surprise, that he was packing a minigun too, which told her at least SOMEONE else came with massive firepower. "Hey guys, how's the bloodshed over here? Nice to see you two. Head Of Power, First Lieutenant Furor at your service. Need anything, weapons, a helping hand?" She smiled, watching the battle, and choosing a grenade launcher to play with next. That was really what the weapons were to Jay. Toys of war. And the winner was the one who knew best how to use the best toys.

The fuzzy black numbness was glorious and very inviting. His mind was going into the beautiful abyss as the blood trickled from his body. He could taste sweet freedom when suddenly the ground shook and a blurry voice called out to him. It was like being in a swimming pool as weird fuzzy voices where trying to communicate with him. Were they Amestrian or Cretan. He couldn't tell for the life of him. His brain went into panic mode. Had the enemy found him before his fellow Amestrian's. He managed to move his hands in twitching movements to his pockets. He was glad that his gloves were easy slip on as his fingers slipped into the fabric causing him to his in pain. Now was not the time to be a pansy. Moving his hands to his lap he slowly rubbed them together feeling the sparks crackle and grow.

A second voice joined his fuzzy mind and he gritted his teeth aiming a blast of heat towards the possible Cretan in warning. Back off! Was the attack's clear statement. The adrenalin was pumping through his veins as he wondered for a moment if he could possible stand and run. He placed his other hand down sending up a blast of heat between him and the other two people to make a barrier. His body was so tired but he forced himself to stay semi conscious. Hoping against hope maybe one of his fellow central alchemists would appear.

Muraz---...No...Soul Catcher had found a supply crate that was airdropped in to be a resupply point for the previously patrolling and ambush groups that Creta was using for guerilla warfare to weaken amestris scouts and recon. He grinned to himself and raided it, he found an assault rifle and two pistols. After loading them up and holstering them to himself and slinging the rifle in front of him he grabbed a back-up radio and changed the frequency to Rei-chans channel, General Blacks, and Xan's then encrypted it. He spoke at first in his own voice, then it changed rapidly and randomly after just a few seconds to all the souls he had taken.

He spoke these words at those moments," This is Soul Catcher. I have fallen behind enemy lines and am conducting a personal mission that will weaken the enemy severely if successful. I have no other options, no retreat is possible, I probably wont survive this ordeal. Water and food supply non-existent, ammunition and weaponry only knives and acquired Cretan weapons. I am injured with multiple minor wounds and am running on adreneline and epenephrine. I am requesting artillery barrages on my location with the biggest rounds you have. ETA to my location is ten minutes. Give me an ETA of twenty minutes to fire on my position. I will keep the radio on this channel for a trace to keep my positions grid coordinates actively responding. This is Soul Catcher, Lt. Colonel Murazar Dauthi. I'm sorry Rei-chan. This is my last transmission. Out."

He popped the radio to the back of his belt and kept it jammed on transmitting the coordinates before taking off to what was now sounding like the primary battle site. His mission was the elimination of Daigoro, former co-worker, formerly in love with Rei-chan, Xan and only Xan would know what his mission was at this point. What other opportunity but this would present itself. His selfishness had won over, he couldn't let Dai have even a sliver of a chance back into her life as more than a friend. He no longer grinned as he sprinted into the random and chaotic hailfire of rounds. Blood and bodys sprayed and splintered everywhere.

He was about to do something stupid, selfish, yet well-intentioned and he knew it. Dai was the enemy and a very dangerous one. Nothing more, except it was personal now. He saw the Red-haired man as he fought non-lethally and wasted his ammo killing all in his way. He dropped rifles and unholstered the empty weapons as he reached Daigoro. He had only his knives once they reached their twin battle glares in their duel. A staff was thrown, Catcher pulled a knife out and flipped it so the flat side pressed against his forearm and smacked the staff away as he charged forward he tossed the knife along with all the other knives in a flurry of rage.

His eyes purely roared a anger that would burn everything in his way. He spun in a circle while jumping in the air spreading every bit of his special dirt that would greatly enhance his pyrotechnic abiltys and held a look on his face that was pure frozen focused rage. He landed his feet on the ground and the area darkened around him, he was going to steal Dai's soul, the intention was obvious and he was rushing Daigoro while snapping his fingers to cause explosions around Dai's flanks and rear to bottleneck him and corner him to force him to do something and to try and keep him form escaping.

He spoke in a glacial tone his voice changing every single word with peoples voices. They all had one thing in common, it was cold anger." Daigoro. I will kill you if not worse. I will tear your soul to shreds and wipe you from the face of this earth even if I have to die to do so. Goodbye, former friend." He had never spoken or fought like this before. No one had ever seen it, he was purely focused on Dai. His bleed started to slowly peel back through the old wounds before. Soldiers cleared their part of the battlefield as they died if they were within a hundred meters of Murazar from a ignition blast to their body which shredded them to pieces and burned them beyond recognition. He was furious, and nothing was going to stop him from killing Dai; not even death.

Fangs, Scopes, Smugs. The three things needed and only those, the personal preference of the Major. He did not wear his dress officer's uniform, but a different set of equipment, a BDU with a camouflage pattern that imitates the typical terrain of West. And a suspender that is overt, worn from the outside latching to the belt as it had several pouches for ammunition to hold them in. And a couple of other pouches around the belt. Wearing an SMG that is Smugs holstered from his left outer thigh within a holster. Fancy that. He wore a set of jackboots anyways, and a net with an amount of foilage to camouflage him better in this terrain. Though more importantly, he lacked protection on his figure. The terrain shall be his protection.

The entirety of the time, Nikolaus founded himself at disgust. PATHETIC. The West are a bunch of children mewling for a time long gone. To attain glory in a way most unrealistic, and are juvenile at most being led by a frail vassal... a shell of a man that encompasses himself in a coffin of metal that the Western Commander would call "Armor". Stuka had half a mind to merely have an "accident" on the Western forces in the form of some "friendly" fire. An accident he'd say... but what he wants is not that.

The time is for the hunt. A most glorious hunt. Why must one call these walking sacks of meat hunked around flesh "soldiers"? These are not soldiers... oh no. Those are animals fighting for a territorial display of aggression in an effort to show which one had the largest genital thus far. It was so very easy to realize this when one stares into the battlefield through the scopes of a sniper rifle.

Though it did give him one luxury -- the opportunity to have rampant disregard to lives without caring for the extra burden of Central personnel getting in the way. If anything, they were naught but bait. He was ahead of them anyways, and he was operating all solo. Oddly... Hei wasn't around. He was missing. It was as if he was wiped out of existence. Nikolaus kept to himself that he would hope the poisoned grilled sauerkrauts were eaten and Hei had finally met his demise. At least that's what Stuka would love to imagine in his murder fantasies.

Though he was at a higher level of an area forested, at a pocket left unscathed by artillery. Untouched. Not targeted. It was a stroke of luck so far and perhaps a lack of enemy activity? Nikolaus did not care whatsoever. He was just glad no bombardment occured at his area which would've had him screwed or perhaps inclined to give way a great spot to target from.

But then a horrible revelation occured to Nikolaus... or was it really a great prospect? He was not in the front lines... nay... he is behind enemy lines. That's right, he wasn't as reckless or trigger happy as many others. To shoot away was to merely invite attention. Nay, he merely aimed carefully. Chose what he reaped like a hunter. The juiciest bounty, the fattest and most sultry of a whore prey he can find. The perfect game.

Picking off officers in their moment of solitude... it was just priceless seeing the reactions of those that are separate for a moment, are dead, for the Cretan companions to show more humanity, to care for the dead, than the rather glory hounded Amestrians. It satisfied Nikolaus's every fibre of his being, it made him get off of that suffering reaped and afforded at a single bullet. They were too far to respond to the sniper presence and note Nikolaus's location. Nikolaus didn't take too many shots to give himself away. And he learnt of officers merely by observing carefully for anything to give themselves away, such as the gathering of men, directing them by gesturing, whichever, it merely gave away their ranking as superiors.

Though he observed action at the Amestrian side. It was all from a vast distance within his range of course but outranging the combatants. From the Amestrians... there were brave Cretans. Peh, it makes dying less worth it if enemy does not show fear. No... that is not bravery, that is patriotism. Another affliction of these meat bags on both sides. He saw no difference but the uniforms. That they would bravely go up against these steel-coffin Templars takes a lot of guts upfront like that. Only the insecure cover up their weaknesses in some effort to show strength. Protection was far too cumbersome anyways.

It did not matter, the land ahead was scarred by artillery barrage. It was a stimulating war that resembled Hell in itself as the forests were flattened as embers sparked, some segments burnt, perhaps had to do with some of the napalm burning involved, and others were merely grey. Dead. But it was a site most beautiful. The symphony of destruction, the tempest of chaos. Nikolaus's tranquility.

Looking out of his sniper scope for a brief moment as he took a glance around, he saw a sudden flash, a brightness from a distance followed by more. But these were no artillery strikes. It had something to do with fire -- alchemy. Raising an eyebrow as he noted that at least someone was kindly enough to let him know there was pyrotechnics being employed. It was either that, or maybe some grenade of sorts, or perhaps a flamethrower to the sadistically inclined, who knows? One thing was for certain; Nikolaus had to know! Grenades were no way this flashy.

He aligned his sights for the scope to look at the location of this, accuracy was pretty suitable considering the bipod were out and resting upon a log Nikolaus got placed in front of himself. It wasn't really anything that big, just a small segment. Anyways, he would aim as to observe Murazar. Merely watching through the scope as distance meant he would be nothing more than an inaffectionate audience. Oh if only there was a volume and some popcorn. He already killed his load of officers among the Cretans, so why not he just sits back and enjoy the show in the form of Dauthi? It'd be a blast certainly.

"Yes succulent game... fight death! Against all odds! It makes a most fine story." the Major Stuka muttered to himself in amusement.

"What was that Foxtrot? Over." The radio sounded, it was bloodied. The voice was in Cretan.

Nikolaus ignored it for now, for after all, he knifed a Cretan scout meant to be posted here and assumed his identity. It'll only be a matter of time before they figure out though...

But this made the hunt more thrilling, the role of the predator turns to a make-believe prey. The wolf in a bitch lamb's clothing. That's how it was, and that's how it will be.

Hmph, I will give that human credit...his pride is impressive...very impressive. But, he's not at our level yet.

Xanthus said nothing in response to Pride's comment inside of the now shared space formerly known as his soul. The Ishvallan's facial features were stone and he seemed to be concentrating on something. But perhaps concentrating was not the proper word...perhaps the more proper words would have been 'preparing himself for.' Yes, that was more appropriate; he was mentally preparing himself for something that would in effect prove once and for all that he had for all intents and purposes ceased to exist as himself. In fact, he would have preferred to not use such a drastic measure, but given the circumstances there was no other option.

The Colonel absently noted that he had arrived at his destination, the command area for the Amestrian forces. His attention was divided between his drastic plan and the words that had forced his hand in such a way.

Greetings, Amestris. This is Lord Dietrich speaking, along with…

I swear, if you keep moving like this, you’ll cut it off yourself...

M-Major Isabella Galica, Head of Military Intelligence for West HQ...

I’m afraid that the major is losing a good bit of blood, and could use some medical attention...

I expect to hear an answer shortly...

Xan jumped from his vehicle, landing lightly on his feet and walked towards the nerve center of the defensive operation. Meanwhile several shadowy tendrils were making their way across the battlefield, covering the ground along the way and painting it an unnerving shade of black. Unlike the attacking shadows, these seemed preoccupied with something else. They seemed to be searching for something or someone. Every once in a while eyes would open upon the tendrils upon passing a Cretan, but they would eventually slink back into the shadows appearing somewhat frustrated.

There is no choice.

The Ishvalan sighed; a defeated sound, something that was rarely heard coming from his general direction. He understood the inevitability of his next action and did not even bother to attempt any form of justification. After a short time worth of searching, one tendril apparently found what it was looking for...a Cretan high-ranking officer was issuing orders to his troops from what could have been considered danger-close to the front lines. Brave, but most unwise given the circumstances. Then again, he did seem to be surrounded by guards and plenty of them. Perfect.

Ready?

*deep breath*

I am ready.

Xanthus stood now outside the command tent, the entrance mere feet away. At the same time, all of the shadow tendrils, numbering about two dozen converged upon one central location. The Cretan officer never stood a chance. As one, all of his guards were run through by separate shadows several times, leaving them all incapacitated but not yet dead. Then, all of the tendrils converged on the now screaming official and did the same to him...at the same time. The blood from the men flowed and mixed, then began to be absorbed into the ground which was willing to drink it. A gift and a curse was that the men were all still alive, having been pierced in no vital areas.

A bloodcurdling scream however soon convinced the men that their troubles were not yet over. One of the men had vanished and another was screaming and tears ran down the sides of his face like rivers so frightened was he at what had just occurred. Of course, the same occurred to him and he vanished too. The officer in charge looked with dying eyes upon a sight that shook his to his very core. The same shadows that had been destroying the vehicles and troops under his command were eating...no...devouring his guards! The man began to crawl away, praying and screaming at the same time, begging for someone...ANYONE to help him. All in vain; a shadow figure appeared before him and spoke in chilling and metallic tones.

"Through me the way into the suffering city, through me the way to eternal pain, through me the way that runs among the lost. Justice urged on my high artificer; my maker was divine authority. The highest wisdom and the primal love. Before me nothing but eternal things were created and I endure eternally...abandon hope, ye who enter here. Welcome to eternity."

The figure then opened itself to reveal a crimson maelstrom which engulfed the man even as he screamed for Lord Dietrich to save him.

Pride the Arrogant smiled and licked his lips with a thoroughly satisfied expression written on his face. He sighed with a look of pure contentment. Humans...their souls were...the feeling of power was simply...the smile on his face widened into a grin. Crimson eyes darkened slightly as Xanthus reveled in his newest ability. For the first time he had consumed human souls for knowledge and power and he knew that it would not be the last time he did so. An amused chuckle replaced the defeated sigh that had escaped earlier. Why had he been so nervous to do this before?! He now knew so much about Creta; about the country itself, about its leaders and its culture, about its battle plans, but most importantly he knew where Dietrich was.

All shadow activity from the two dozen tendrils stopped and they became one large shadow that flew over the ground at amazing speed, finding Dietrich with minimal effort. 'After all, why would he have been anywhere different than where his men thought he would be?' Pride thought to himself with a laugh. The golden armor was also quite the dead give-away. As much as he wanted to brag and boast and do other prideful activities, Pride decided against such things (this time) and simply did what needed to be done. The tendril shrank and thinned out as it reached Dietrich and Isabella. Giving less than a damn about her overall feelings of privacy, the tendril crawled up her leg and began to wrap itself around her body behind the cover of her clothes. Then, feeling unable to resist, Xanthus spoke to the golden lord in his metallic voice.

"Greeting to Lord Dietrich, Prime Minister and King of Creta. I am Pride the Arrogant, the name of the being controlling the shadows that have been wreaking a bit of havoc upon the Royal Task Force. Until now I have allowed you and the rest of your forces to believe that I could not reach this far, but at this point I have no choice but to inform you that I in fact can reach whatever my human forms' eyes can see.

Don't worry, I consider myself to be...above fighting Amestris' battles for it and thus I'll not be ending you. You're welcome. However I apparently have been given the unfortunate task of taking the major here off of your hands so that you can have a friendly chat with certain people without such bad blood being a factor. Ah, well I see that it is time for me to be going now, so until we next meet I bid you farewell."

At this point, the metallic voice silenced itself and Isabella's body was lifted upright, and her body was pulled straight back. The sword came out with a sickening sound as its victim was wrested away from it forcefully. Pride hoped that the womans' arm was still attached to her body but if not...well...she could always get automail. Soon her body disappeared amidst the sights of battle and war, leaving the golden king without his hostage. Meanwhile, Xanthus stepped through the command tent with a heavily bleeding woman in his arms. He laid her flat across the planning table and left her there, considering his job to have been completed.

"Special delivery. One Major in need of med support ASAP." He said with some sarcasm. He then saw his little brother, who had apparently just completed communicating with someone. But before he could do more than wave and form the words 'Hey Lyte,' he heard something that stopped him in his tracks for a moment.

Mura's Transmission:

Spoiler:

...damn.

Nika had stood in silence for what seemed like an eternity, standing as a sentinel, staying close to Dietrich, but far enough to not attract attention. She didn't stand out, she looked like another Cretarian soldier in the lot that hovered about Dietrich, to assure his safety. But she was not here to assure his safety, she was here to assure Ito that he would not try anything to ruin their plans or compromise their objective. Ito had vanished for a bit, escorted off to some location to which Nika could not follow. It was an unexpected delay in their plans, and quite frankly, she was not to keen on it, that unknown element, not knowing where her commanding officer was. Cross had already slinked off to do what he had to, but she hadn't received any radio contact just yet. Where was he now, he wasn't thinking of abandoning the plan, was he?

Nika's thoughts and worries subsided when she caught a glance of that familiar flash of long red hair from the corner of her eye. So Ito was alright after all, that was a relief. Well now things could progress, finally she could wait for his signal to stop idling by while her fellow soldiers suffered. She waited patiently as the Lt. Colonel bowed to Dietrich and went through all the pleasantries expected in addressing the King, all just a ruse on Ito's part, of course. She waited, she watched them both intently, too far away to hear what they were speaking of, the ambiance of war drowned out all their words. She waited, waited for a signal from Ito....but.....nothing. He walked off towards the battle without even giving her a look. What was he doing? Where was he going to, that was the center of battle, he was going to be fired upon for sure! She had to follow him and find out why......no, that would compromise the mission, she would just have to wait for the signal, Ito knew what he was doing, right?

The chaotic state of warfare continued off in the distance, pushing closer and closer to their position, the sound of the Cretan rail guns firing in the distance, the alchemical tornado in the distance, the ice storms, the gunfire, the explosions, it was a symphony of war all right. But for what? Nika pondered that for a moment. These people....she never really took the time to get to know them, even in Briggs she mostly kept to herself, but...., they were just people doing their job, right? Her comrades in Briggs, who she had sworn her life too, as a soldier, were they going to die here, killed by the men she stood beside now? Killed by the soldiers who wore the same uniform as her? And the soldiers she lived with in Creta, they treated her well, they treated her like a comrade, helped her dress up for that ball, helped her learn English. She never asked for any of that, she thought it was annoying at the time. But what became of them now? Where they dead? Lying in a ditch on the battlefield, never to be seen by the loved ones they spoke of so longingly? No.....no, Nika was a soldier of Briggs, she was to follow the orders of her commander, her allegiance was to Briggs, the enemy of Briggs was Creta, the Cretans were people too, they had families, dreams, feelings, and they felt pain, but they intended to take the lives of Amestrians who were the same. In war, those who are willing to shoot others must be prepared to be shot at. Everyone was here prepared to kill, prepared to die, and if she was not willing to shoot the enemy, then she would killed in turn, her comrades, her home, they would suffer for her hesitance. Emotional sentiment should not be a factor in her duty as a soldier. Shoot the enemy.......

Nika looked on upon a ghastly scene when she returned from her labyrinth of thought. There stood Dietrich, sword planted into the soft flesh of an Amestrian soldier whom she had never met, a southern looking girl with tan skin stained with blood, blonde hair and piercing yellow eyes that twitched with agony. Gritting her teeth as she looked helplessly upon this scene, a stray hand hovered tensely above the holster of her pistol. So easy.....it would be so easy to end this all right here, a bullet to the head is all it would take, she could hit her mark from here.....but she was under orders not to compromise the mission. But why not end the entire battle with a single bullet, while he was speaking into the radio? No, Dai was to hand Dietrich....but why hadn't he? There had to be a reason....

But the opportunity she had for a clean shot had passed as soon as it came, as a man toe to tip in pitch black armour arrived, the commander of West, his steel blade brandished and ready to bear down upon the King. He was in check now, was this Ito's chance? What was he waiting for? Something was wrong, something had to have happened to Ito. Leaving the Regal King and the Black Knight to match blades on their own, Nika sprinted off in the direction Daigoro had gone, ducking behind cover and rubble and into foxholes to avoid enemy fire....the fire of her comrades. This was too much, she was wearing a Cretan uniform, she was a target here, she might have to fire back to save her neck. Crouching in a ditch in the field, she peered around, looking for any sign of her commander, as Cretans and Amestrians alike fell in the storm of bullets. A nearby Cretan soldier sharing her hole cast a glance towards her and placed his hand on her shoulder, and yelled above the sound of artillery and gunfire. "What are you doing soldier, return f-" his words cut short, he fell forward, a trail of blood leaking from a new orifice in his skull. Nika felt bad for this man, who had wasted his life, unknowingly grasping the soldier of his enemy, but she omitted the incident, all that mattered was finding Ito, the life of an enemy was not to be pitied. He wouldn't have wanted to be pitied.

There! Her wandering gaze met the back of her Lt. Colonel, wandering in the midst of battle like a lost spirit. Why was he all the way out here? Nika watched him and waited, waited for the opportunity to rush through the line of fire and catch up to him, to find out what had happened to him to make him act so strangely, to find out what he was planning. But then, what happened then was unimaginable, it was like watching a vague dream. A man, an Amestrian soldier had shouted something that was not audible over the sound of firing guns. He rushed at the red haired commander and attempted to club him with the butt of his rifle, only to have his face grabbed by his target's metal arm. With a......a grin? Nika couldn't believe it was a grin that her commanding officer wore as as his hand touched the transmutation circle on his automail, she would not believe that he was grinning when the man's body froze from the inside out, and dropped down to the ground, a frigid corpse. What happened then......what happened then? All rational thought had fled from Nika's conscience, the sound of yelling, the ground shaking explosions, the hail of bullets, she seemed to be unaware of all of these things, her feet just carried her toward her commander, the man she trusted and respected more than any other in the world. "ITOOOOOOO" she shouted at the top of her lungs, the desperation pouring forth in her voice in a manner alien to her. She ran forward with all her strength in what seemed like an eternal trek across no man's land. Her legs brought her step by step closer as she watched as Ito drew his staff and began to make quick work of their fellow soldiers with little hesitation. "ITO! STOP!" Nika shouted again, her voice strained so much that it hurt her throat. But her pleas went unnoticed, and then all took a turn for the worse. A silver haired man emerged from the ranks of Amestrians, a murderous intent held in the air about him as he faced Ito. Nika only knew him to be the Commander for North HQ, a man she had never me personally. Ito in turn, drew a staff, and threw it straight at the man, who deflected it in a quick flurry of his knife. What was this madness? Why was Ito engaging Amestrians? Why was he trying to kill them. As she drew closer to the two alchemists, she tried one last time to shout, to reach through to her commander in all her desperation, "Ito! Ito! Stop, both of you! Why are you attacking your comrades?! What about Briggs!? Ito! What's wrong with-" Nika's coarse shouting was interrupted by a deafening roar and a torrent of flame that engulfed her field of vision. Everything was just a blur, a blur of motion, a spell of ringing in her ears, she could hear nothing, see nothing, she felt as if she were flying through the air.

A sharp pain resonated through Nika's constitution as her back and the back of her head met a sharp blow from the ground as she landed on the rocky terrain, sliding against the rough stone as the force of the explosions threw her far backwards. "Damn......what?" Nika murmured weakly, visions of blurred light filled her head like a obscure haze. Where were they, what happened to Ito? The ringing in her ears would not stop, her head was spinning so violently with inexorable pain. Slowly, as if she were emerging from the depths of water, everything flooded back in at once, the roar of battle filling her ears once more, and further ahead, a blur in the distance as she tried to focus on them, she could see the Lt. Colonel and the Commander of North trapped in a sphere of darkness. What was happening, was she imagining things? She could not be sure, the world was still spinning around her, her head was throbbing with pain, her mind began to flit back and forth between the darkness of unconsciousness. "Ito....." Nika whispered in her stupor, struggling to behold what was befalling her commander.

"ITOOOOOOO" A voice caused the redhead to move his head slightly, but in turn ignore it. They weren't talking to him, right? He sighed softly, and kept his eye on Murazar, making sure that he was noticed. He would kill Mura. For the glory of Creta, right? He shook his head slightly. No, that was wrong. Oh, come on. He shook his head again, getting it out of his mind. Yes, for the glory of Creta. Briggs was the enemy, and he needed to act appropriately.

"ITO! STOP!" Again. That voice. It wasn't like the voices in his head, but he was sure that it wasn't anything that he needed to understand. All he needed were these morals and ideals that were driving him. He needed to defeat this enemy, and then he would go home.

Home? Where, no what, was home? Home was where the heart was, right? His eyes were now completely dead-set on Murazar. There was no hate in his eyes, only indifference, as if he were simply a methodical killer. Emotion was lost in battle. The heart meant nothing. The knives came streaming for him. Dai did nothing but raise his right arm - and strengthened the magnetic field around that point. The knives, having both a metallic composition and being subject to friction, were ionized quite strongly, and able to be magnetized at the same time. The knives were caught in a weak stasis, slowed to the point where they simply hit his hand and dropped to the ground

"This feels wrong."

"Ito! Ito! Stop, both of you! Why are you attacking your comrades?! What about Briggs!? Ito! What's wrong with-"

What about Briggs? What did she mean? Briggs was the enemy! He turned around to prepare a rebuttal to the woman's argument, when he felt it. No, he couldn't help but feel it. It wasn't a feeling, it was an experience. The redhead grimaced and turned towards the source of the oncoming heat, realizing that they were all around him. No... He was caught. Darkness covered them. Dai knew exactly what that was, lowering his head slightly, a tear dropping to the ground. He was weaker than Murazar, wasn't he?

"Daigoro. I will kill you if not worse. I will tear your soul to shreds and wipe you from the face of this earth even if I have to die to do so. Goodbye, former friend." His eyes widened, a discrepancy in the man's statement causing him to wonder.

"We... were friends? But you told me... that we had always been enemies... When I was fired from Briggs..." He was absent-mindedly wondering about everything, and the problem was - Daigoro believed every one of his words to be true. What was going on? He needed to get Murazar to speak sense. He needed to know what that meant! The man's hands went to the back of the uniform, drawing the tonfa out, placing them in his hands in preparation to fight.

Maybe I can beat it out of him... The redhead shouted out, running straight for his friend. He wouldn't let up. He wouldn't give in! He would win. For the glory of Creta!

...but even that sounded wrong in his head. He didn't know right from left anymore...

Reila sucked in a sharp breath, her listless eyes staring into the radio static left behind from the deep yowl of a Brigadier General, Jet Black. He had given her the epitome of a vague reply. Follow his lead? Did he know how many Jet Black look-a-likes there were on the battle field below her? It was all she could do just to keep track of Xan and he had millions of shadows swarming all around him. She blinked and drew her eyes away from the dulled mouth piece and stared into the eye of her own creation. The tornado had taken out what appeared to be one of the main supply carriers of the Cretan forces. And her focus on it only made it spin faster and the tattoo on her forearm glow fiercely. Crates, boxes, weapons, and people alike were lifted up only to be dropped back down as mere shreds of what they once were. Then suddenly a voice drew her back to reality. And this voice wasn't just any voice. This voice was "Greetings, Amestris. This is Lord Dietrich speaking along with..." "M-Major Isabella Galica, Head of Military Intelligence for West HQ." Reila felt shivers run up and down her spine, blood boiling over as waves of heat licked roughly at her skin. He took a hostage. "Perhaps General Black or Tsukino would be interested in picking her up?" Reila bit into her lip, tasting blood. Interested!? "I expect to hear an answer shortly." The line went dead. It went so dead that no static followed.

She did not hesitate. Not a moment was able to squeeze passed her as she whipped out a miniature key pad and hooked it up to her radio. She pressed a few strangely shaped keys and an array of codes flashed up on the screen that looked almost like a calculator. In the next second, it was back were it was and she found herself clicking frequencies until she found the one listed. "Dietrich," she began pleasantly, glad that he couldn't see the cruel smile working its way onto her lips, "this is Reila Tsukino. I'm coming for you." She cut the connection and immediately switched to that of her pilot. "Descend," she ordered, no questions asked. Now she just needed to find him.

Xan.

Reila jumped through the wind and landed on the very edge of the U.F.O. where she could see much more efficiently, but was also much more of a target. She had to find the Ishvallan again. White hair...white hair...shadows... She spotted him a little ways away from where he was before, but... W-what the hell!? She gasped absentmindedly and clamped a hand over her mouth, trying to overcome the initial shock at what she was seeing. The head of Fort Briggs was mildly informed of what Pride's capabilities were, but...never had she witnessed something like this. Men absorbed into shadows, their expressions shell-shocked, and their souls...gone. Briefly, she wondered if it would hurt...if consciousness would already be gone by the time their soul was. Was it the fear that slayed them first or the act? She watched Xan's all-knowing smirk, saw him stand with pride as knowledge assailed him. All the shadows in the vicinity ceased movement and then became a confluence of arrows, all pointing to the one thing she was looking for: Dietrich. "Follow the shadows!" She barked into the speaker, unable to hide the prick of excitement upping her tones. The U.F.O. descended quickly and honed in on the direction of the dark bodies. And then...then, well, Reila saw him. It was hard to miss armor the same hue as her eyes. She felt a smile grow, one of the scariest smiles her face had ever known. He wasn't bluffing. She knew Isabella's face from the records, but it was paler in complexion now...and there was a sword through her. He wasn't bluffing.

Xanthus' shadows reached out to the sword and Reila knew--she knew exactly what her second in command was about to do. Isabella vanished, Xan vanished, and so did the shadows. She flung the yellow goggles off her eyes and let them hang uselessly around her neck. "Thank you, Xan," she murmured into his frequency, not bothering to filter out the emotion. Hostages...was just low. What was this some cliche old western movie or some shit? That man trekked unpredictable roads, and she was going to take him out. It was only a matter of--

""This is Soul Catcher. I have fallen behind enemy lines and am conducting a personal mission that will weaken the enemy severely if successful. I have no other options, no retreat is possible, I probably wont survive this ordeal." ... "I am injured with multiple minor wounds and--" Reila tried to breathe, tried to focus, but her mind stopped. Her mind just stopped. Her ship continued to descend directly in Dietrich's path, but she wasn't there...not anymore. "I will keep the radio on this channel..." She drew in a shaky breath, clutching her radio with white knuckles and garish horror caressing her features. "I'm sorry Rei-chan. This is my last transmission. Out." No. No, no, no. Goddammit no. She acted before she thought and quickly drew the mouthpiece to her quivering lips. His radio was still on. He would hear her. Even if he didn't respond, he would hear her. "Mura, you--YOU fool!!!!!" She screamed, voice full of fury and a mix of emotions she knew she would never fully understand. "NO. I order you to pull back. PULL BACK NOW DAMMIT. I never told you you could die...that...that wasn't part of your job description. Why are you doing..this!? ...why? Why, ...Mura?" She didn't care who else could hear her, she didn't care what channel it was even on; she was beyond it. In an instant, she felt the thin ice shatter under her feet. And then fragments slithered into her mind--feelings she couldn't grasp, blocked by menacing hands that ventured where they should not. Her heart ached and the sky flipped below her. The rose by her bedside mocked her in cruel laughter and thorns threatened to pierce her skin if she ever dared to reach out and touch it. "I can't...lose you..too," Reila sobbed.

Too? It resounded in her mind, throwing itself against invisible walls and telling her not to go further. She felt pain spike every nerve in her head and tears linger warmth briefly on her cheeks before they froze like all the air around her. More sobs wrecked through her and she held out her arms into a deluge of icicles all aimed to kill. Dietrich had to disappear. Once he was gone, Mura would be okay...Mura would come back if there was no longer any reason to fight. It had to all be okay. Briggs wouldn't be Briggs without Mura just like it hadn't been without Xan, without-- Roses filled her head, making her focus swim and the icicles form and drop without precise aim. Many of the men below were maimed and not killed, forced to lie there in pain as Reila flew over and gathered herself back together again. Many soldiers say that to make friends only to see them die is too sad a story--that maybe it would be better not to have known them at all. But Reila--Reila despised that way of thought. This...this is exactly why battles were won. Reila didn't have a choice; she had to kill Dietrich to save Mura. She would do that, and she would succeed because there was no other option; Death wasn't on the list and it never was for Briggs.

The U.F.O. was two or so yards from touching down, and Reila's patience was already torn in half. She scrapped at her glassy cheeks, prying the tears away, and looked down. The men around Dietrich were staked with icicles--human shish kabobs on display. Some moaned in agony, croaking for help as their life's blood poured like small rivers from their ice-gnawed flesh. Reila's eyes were glowing like the flickering rays of gold under a cold riverbed, rushing towards eternity, and rushing towards its end at the same time. "I will save you," she whispered, knowing very well that it was a gamble. But nothing dashed Reila Tsukino's determination once it was set. So many people died... The grass here would forever grow in red shoots of human demise. War was like this. And all they were doing was protecting their borders...protecting their country and their people from foreign intrusion. Why...why did it always have to be this way? There was always another way...there were ways to come to agreements between people. Not this...this was just murder. And Reila was a murderer--a murderer that grew sick at the sight of blood that wasn't her own.

"DIETRICH!!!" was the attention-demanding cry that came from her as she leaped off the side of her ship, falling through the air, and slamming into the ground. Her metal boots left deep indents and broken rocks. Reila raised her eyes that scoured into his soul and lapped at the evil there. Xan had spared this man's life--had pushed aside his own pride--who he was--for a reason. And this reason was now standing before the king of Creta. She vaguely noticed Jet off to the side and shot him a death-gripped look that said everything and nothing in a single breath. She breathed out, turned her eyes to Dietrich, and walked slowly forward, tachi drawn. Do not touch him unless I am dead, was what her eyes had mouthed. "There is a man with silver hair by the name of Murazar Dauthi. His frequency is 58062 and his radio is switched on for tracking. Jet..." Reila begged, "save him...please..." She turned her face away from the Black Templar of the West and bore into cruelty with a face. "Prepare yourself," she hissed through bared teeth. And Reila Tsukino charged the gold-armored man, aiming swift katas at his neck, which would sever it off his shoulders in a instant if he didn't get far away. And for once, Reila aimed to kill.

"Dear God..." A voice sounded off in Cretan.

It was amongst a few Cretans as one of them vomited. Typically to them, they would not be phased by things like this, but to their horror was the corpse of their missing sniper mangled, mutilated, with flesh eaten. Missing. Bite marks were around as limbs were stripped to the bone and some lingering strip of muscles.

But to their investigation, nobody was around this area, there was a bloody radio, and a set of foilage and an Amestrian uniform thrown aside. The corpse was missing the uniform along with a head, and a leg. To them, it was a wild animal that managed to jump the sniper in their view. Oh how right and wrong they are... indeed it was a wild animal.

There was only a clip left, and a full round in the sniper rifle. Ammunition is not scarce on the SMG, and the belly is full. Things were clear. Clarity. Crystal and relaxing. It helps one's strike to be true.

"I am John Churchill eh?" Nikolaus smiled at the name tag on the newly acquired Cretan uniform. Has a nice ring to it. He liked it. He shall keep it.

It had a few bloodstains on it. But details are trivial and unimportant. It was the enemy's. Yes... Nikolaus's enemy. An enemy he loves to loathe. The position was no fun. Not after what he had seen that sparked the fire of passionate inclinations towards the chaos, and the appropriately convenient lack of bullets were making things more tempting to take it up close.

Abandoning that elevated height in favor of more upfront and tantalizing action. Stimulating. Ecstatic in proportions to the thrill that courses through the veins. That through his path he left a few Cretans mistaking him for a friend dead. A few? This was but a subjective numbering. Killing squads mistaking him for a recon unit asking for a report, only to be met with a flurry of bullets that dispatched them. Surprised as they were killed off, the look on their face was just a treasured moment Nikolaus would remember to commit to memory.

It was so cliché, all of them muttering the same question of "Why?" Are they that gullible and in disbelief? Was Nikolaus able to pull off Cretan in appearance? If so, he has a making in the spy department. A fond thought he shall reflect upon at a later time.

An odd number of bodies later and Nikolaus had managed to reach a point defined by a rocky slope. Looking from below he saw a woman in Cretan uniform.

That a few moments later, the woman would be absent from the location of the slope and pulled farther away from the more dangerous zones, but it had a nice view of where Dauthi and Daigoro were having it out. And it had a good distance as to be considered safe for the time being. Another elevation and all deserted save for the souls of two.

Nika was missing a segment of her sleeve as it was ripped off, made to be fastened around her head as her firearms were laid aside along with her ammunition. Nikolaus is delighted by the prospect of make-believe he shall partake in! The great theater and the stage is the battlefield. And he shall perform the acting role of Lieutenant Churchill.

Nikolaus knew his rank on his recon Cretan disguise was that of a 1st Lieutenant. He was fine with that. As long as it wasn't Sergeant. Oh the irony, that he is a Major, and not a lowly Lieutenant.

As of yet, Stuka worn his sniper rifle to be strapped to his back, holding a sniper scope missing a sniper rifle to his eye as he used it as a telescope to observe the battle. Sitting on a log behind Nika's position which is to say... on her back laid against a few leaves. A cushion per se.

Observing the anomaly, the darkness. Feeling the alchemy being strong from what Dauthi used, and from what Daigoro utilized. He feels it through his "sixth sense". As he had felt earlier Reila's alchemical actions, and this is curiously fascinating. A Homunculus presence!

This certainly is starting to unfold to be an epic drama that Nikolaus may pose a poetry to put his thoughts into. One that pronounces the stupidity of both sides, the emotions, the unnecessary pursuits, the lack of pragmatism, and just how personal things are. The chivalry and whatnot! Instead of a bullet to the back of a head.

”You speak Cretan with an Amestrian accent, by the way,” she hears as Dietrich puts her radio back in its holster. ”And maybe next time you decide to kill a king, bring a weapon.”

”Motherfucker,” she mutters.

”Unfortunately for you, my dear Galicia, I happen to know that one.” Moving the sword just slightly, Isabella screams out in pain. ”Aren’t you losing enough blood as it is?”

”Perhaps,” she says, watching the blood drip down her arm, no longer responding to her commands, and beginning to pool up on the ground.

”So, how many men of mine did you kill today? One? Two? Or are you like your commanding officer, swinging his blunt sword and having his lackeys slay dozens more, simply for the sport of it? Do you enjoy the excitement of killing another human being?” He gives an impish grin in return, studying her stoic face. ”Or do you kill out of necessity? Do you give a prayer for each fallen foe, hoping for forgiveness from one god or another?”

”Do you not believe in god? The reason why your family is royal to begin with?”

Dietrich chuckles, looking forwards into the distance. ”Can one not accept that people believe in other gods, Major? Or does everything have to be clear-cut to you Amestrians?”

She sighs at that, still staring at her right arm. The two remain there, silent, as the battle continues to rage on. She couldn’t help but contemplate on her fate, pondering on whether or not she would be dying here soon. ”Saving you is the illogical choice. You would’ve done it for anyone else.”

”I believe this is your CO approaching us. A brave man indeed, I must say. Give him my regards the next time you get a chance?”

Isabella remains silent, her eyes beginning to lose focus on the imaginary point somewhere beyond her hand.

”Let her go you fiend!” the general shouts, obviously letting the chivalry of the situation supersede any shred of logic regarding diplomacy of the situation. Silently, though, she was cursing him, and herself. A valuable portion of the military, brought here simply to “rescue” her.

”Ah, good General, I was afraid you wouldn’t show!” Dietrich says in Amestrian with some enthusiasm. ”Though I’m afraid your claim of me being a ‘fiend’ is not only your opinion, but also slander. I am deeply disappointed in a man of your stature having to result to such lows.”

Isabella shook her head, half wanting the man to cut the rest of her arm and leave her to die already. Then again, he had no real right to be concerned about her health.

”Ah, yes, we were having the most wonderful conversation. I was trying to peg her for what kind of killer she was, but I’m afraid I was having trouble earlier. Perhaps you’d like to confirm my newest hypothesis?” Isabella looked up, between the two armored men. ”You see, she’s an odd one. Not a sociopath, like you most likely act like while in battle, dear General. She doesn’t relish in the control over someone else’s fate, now, does she? Perhaps she views death as a natural part of life, and maybe even thinking that fate has something to do with it. But unlike you or me, General, she doesn’t cope with it, think of it as necessary, or otherwise put on some guise, a mask if you will, that allowed her to commit such atrocities. She doesn’t accept it as a part of her, either. Instead, she does so cold, without emotion, and without pleasure. A monster, if you will, killing without empathy, and not being bothered by killing one bit, the only time she can act without a mask on, even.”

As Dietrich grins, she looks down at the ground. She wasn’t sure whether he was trying to coax a reaction from her or her CO, but he wasn’t going to get one regardless. She was feeling too woozy, and was also in a less-than-ideal situation, to get angry. She’d lost far too much blood to engage the conversation intellectually, at least not for too long.

Her attention was quickly caught by the descending helicopter. She noted the strange design, hoping to remember what she saw to work out the mechanics later, but she wasn’t too confident. Her attention was, however, wrenched away after a few moments as something began crawling up her leg. Her mind jumped into high-gear, trying to get away, get it off, but she knew she couldn’t. She’d rather lose her arm than go back home… ”Perhaps that’s no longer figurative,” part of her mind reminds her.

After the speech from the sentient shadow, she screams out as her body is forcefully pulled off the blade. What she was screaming wasn’t coherent, but at least nobody else had to know, shouting the parts and segments of Esparian words she had heard her father say only a handful of times. And then, darkness.

She felt at home in the darkness, not even being able to see herself in the black depths of nothingness. It was quiet, silent, perfect. Soon, though, she saw a speck of red, growing bigger and bigger, soon turning into a swarming, wailing crimson vortex. As soon as it engulfed her, she found herself back behind the frontlines, in the arms of an Ishvalla,

And he was touching her.

She feebly tried to get out of the man’s grip, but taking another look at her shoulder, part of her figured such wasn’t a good idea. When she was plopped down onto a table, she tried looking at the man’s face, but noticed she couldn’t get a clear picture of him. Her eyes were going in-and-out of focus, and she found herself struggling to keep her eyes open.

Laying her head down onto the table, she closed her eyes. Maybe… Maybe just a short nap was called for.

[EXIT THREAD]

Dietrich grinned as the shadows retracted back to their source. He had almost wanted the being to kill him, just to learn that he had made a mistake. Still, he had other things to attend to.

”Prepare yourself,” Reila says, charging foolishly at him.

”Listen to your commanding officer, General Black,” he says, deflecting Reila’s blades and stepping to the side. ”Lest you prove to dishonor yourself more today.”

Looking at Reila, he gives her a small nod, raising his sword back up in his left hand, his right held behind his back. ”It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Lieutenant General Tsukino,” he says with a smile, continuing to toy with her. A swipe here, a dodge there, no matter. She was good, but he, certainly, was better.

”I’m surprised to see you here, honestly. You have the dear Major Galicia back, and now you want more?” he scoffs at her. ”I do say, you Amestrians are all take, and no give.”

Thrust, parry, three steps back. Feint left, move right, and prepare for her next attack.

”So, how many have you killed today? A dozen? Fifty? A hundred? All for the sake of your vision of good, I suppose? Or are you fighting for someone else, for another reason, Miss Tsukino? Some idealistic image of peace?”

Parry, swipe, three steps left, parry. Slide four step’s worth right.

”Are you really surprised that we have attacked, Miss Tsukino? If I remember correctly, a high-ranking member of the Amestrian military declared an act of war during a public event. I even heard it was quite the spectacle, too.” He chuckles, remembering the accounts he’d heard.

Parry, thrust, swing, barrel roll, leap back.

”I’m afraid that there are two sides to the Cretan war machine, Miss Tsukino. As the good Senator Palpatine summed it up, ‘We are Creta; you killed our Prime Minister; prepare to die.'”

Just then, jets screeched once more over the battlefield, releasing their payloads on the advancing Amestrians. Artillery rounds began bombarding anew as reinforcements arrived, flowing to and around the Amestrian push. An eye for an eye, a hand for a hand.

”But me? Oh, I thank that man for allowing my dream to come true. And to you? I applaud you for further proving that you Amestrians are selfish and heartless, unwilling to relinquish the power you hold at any costs. I offer democracy and peace, and what do I get in return?” He leans in close, saying with an impish grin, “You refuse, making the choice for your citizens.”

Backing up, he flourishes his sword, still amused with the general. ”And this makes me wonder, do you really believe in what you fight for? As a woman who sends men to their death, can you really fight for peace? As a general who controls more military power than your despicable leader, are you not a tyrant yourself? And, having failed to oust your tyrant leader using said power – regardless of your intentions – are you no better than the Furher herself?”

Spade received the coordinates, but didn't bother looking at them. He sent them with the man, Jesse, who had roused him from his overwhelmed stupor. The russet-haired man (known as Jesse Brakerface) ran off to deliver them to the rest of Central Command that was scattered about in landing helicopters. Besides, now wasn't the time to be sitting around and letting his men die. Spade went to rise when Acra's voice crackled through his discarded headphones around his neck. He yanked them back over his ears and cranked the speaker back to his lips. "Brigadier!!! It's Acra here!" A pause. "Where do you wa-" Another pause. And...silence... Spade waited a moment before leaping to his feet and rushing out of the obnoxiously yellow tent. Fuck fuck fuck... If Acra died too... Seriously. What the hell was life dishing him? FUCK YOU WORLD!!!!! Maybe he was actually fine and encountered enemies he had to sneak passed? "Major Acra Schiwatas reporting in....I'm down...." ...Or not.

"Goddammit Acra, stay with me," Spade barked as he ran, really having no idea where he was going. All he knew was that all Central air crafts had touched ground in the same general area. If one were to run straight into the enemies from there... Spade kamikaze'd that shit and war-cried his way there. "DIE YOU SONNOFABITCHES!!!!" His pistol felled many, and his wires took out more. Twisted bodies and wires piled up behind him and his fashionable shadow (pfft fashionable!? Hardly in this uniform). He eyed a large suit of armor and concluded there was only on--two lunatics on this planet that would go to war looking like a...well, knight in shining armor. Clearly, he had come to save the day for the felled, delirious man who only wanted to watch Vincent's armor melt into a puddle of human sauté. Ugh. What was he going to do with his men. They really needed some booze right about now. Maybe a pretty lady or two...or three...or-- Right, Acra was trying to kill them.

"ACRA cease! It is I your commanding officer, Brigadier Spade Aeries!" He raised a fist in false valor. It was worth a try, right? A blast of wavy air burst up between Acra and Vincent. Spade saw the alchemy form and immediately activated his own, slowing the shot man's perception and thus the alchemy itself. This gave him time to tackle Jay out of the way so he didn't have a deep-fried Head of Power on his hands. "Jesus god, Acra! We need her. Go kill the Cretans if your raring to go so bad! Someone take him to the infirmary already before we all light on fire or something..."

Braaaaap, Braaaap!

Fuck. Shit. Fucking shitballs. He was late. Like, seriously. WHO was late for a fucking goddamn BATTLE?! Okay, so maybe he'd stopped to flirt with a couple of cute Aerugese soldiers. SO WHAT?! They were hotties! There was this one, Kim. He was pretty sure she was from Carriag. Probably because her last name was Malleo. Strange name. Well, anyway. As he continued on his motorbike, streaming down the roads that lead to West City, and then the battlefield. Wait. He just had an epiphany.

Good god, he hadn't gotten her number!

And then... He suddenly heard it. The sounds of jeeps following him. OH, COME ON! The man grimaced, and sped up the Lady-Killer. It droned louder, and he sped past vehicles, the pair of jeeps following with impeding sounds. He looked back to see Aerugese soldiers staring at him from inside. Oh. They wanted blood. The man grimaced, and made for West as quickly as he could.

C'mon, you sonuvabitch... He wasn't going to make it. He needed to face them. Guh. Apos grimaced, and slowed down, slipping a pair of handguns out of holsters on the cycle. Now.

"Shovel, if this kills me, I SWEAR that I will kill you. Even if I have to haunt your ass until you're about to die and then smother you, you will die if I do." The man grinned, and pulled the brake. The bike stopped suddenly, and Apos pushed back, jumping off. The jeeps tried to slow and swerve, and Apos held the pair of pistols up either side of him, as soon as he could. His hands pointed at the windows, and Apos fired.

Two shots merged into one sound. Each shot spread through the vehicles, colliding with the heads of the Aerugese. The sudden loss of control caused the vehicles to spin out and flip, the jeeps landing on the ground on their roofs, making sparks, igniting leaking fuel, catching on fire...

Exploding.

Of course, Apos didn't look at the explosions. Because cool guys NEVER look at explosions. Once the sounds died down, Apos turned back to see the burning wrecks, and wandered slowly over to the bike. He smiled confidently, kneeling down to the bike, touching the heated metal. Good. His baby was still safe. With a grin, he picked it up, and climbed back on.

Vrrrrn, vrrrrrn... The slow rumble of the motorcycle caused Apos to smile softly, and then he pulled the accelerator. The shrill tones of the bike moving began again, and Apos was on his way towards West City once more. He continued the trip down the road, evading cars and pedestrians. He would be there before long.

---

"SHOOOOOOOVELLLLLLLL!" The sound of his voice meant but one thing. Apos Rajan had seen Spade Aeries. And he was almost there. The bike hit a ramp, and was launched into the air, the Lady-Killer easily traversing the distance in the simplicity of it all. A few unlucky Cretans were caught under the wheels of the bike, and Apos skidded to a stop on their corpses. Oh, fuck. First he had zombie brains, and now Cretan blood. When was this shit going to wash out?! He sighed softly, and climbed off of the bike, saluting to Shovel.

"S'rry 'bout the wait, man. I had..." He thought back to Kim, "Shit to deal with before I left South." The muscular blonde thought for a few more seconds, before thrusting his right fist out and breaking the jaw of a Cretan sprinting towards him. He smirked, and sighed. Was his arrival really that unexpected and late? He stared at the people around him.

"...what?"

Jay watched as Acra attacked her, mistaking her for the enemy. "AHHH! What are you doing, I'm with you-" She was cut off by the Head Of Central tackling her to the ground as she felt a bit of her hair singe. "Holy crap, that was close. Thanks a bunch, sir, you saved my life!" Jay was a bit wide-eyed, having almost died. But she couldn't blame Acra, he was a bit loopy from the wounds he'd gotten. If she'd have been given a bit more WARNING, though, she could have gotten out of it herself with some ease. Anyways, she shrugged any un-war-related-matters from her head, and turned to face Spade again. "Sir, anything I can do to help? Maybe rally a squad or something and try to take out groups one at a time?" She didn't really care what she could do, except to do SOMETHING. She'd been itching for some excitement like this for a while, especially since she lost her arm and legs to Creta when she was in Special Ops, 3 years ago. Seeing a few enemy soldiers creeping up on them, she turned, and let a very small pistol drop from her uniform sleeve. It was like a water pistol in appearance, but looks can be decieving. It was actually a pretty strong magnum, and she opened fire, knocking two back, before shooting a grenade into a third one's open mouth with her grenade launcher. Grinning with fire in her eyes, she watched them run in fear for a moment before the group was blown to bits. She then gave a battle cry of "Don't mess with Amestris, scumbags!!" She then turned back to Spade, awaiting orders.

Cironis sprinted. His legs pumping with all their worth. Bullets and shrapnel ricocheted off his automail, as he kept one arm raised to protect his head. Almost there. He could see the golden armor of that pretentious fool gleaming with what light it caught. It helped only fuel the Ghost Wolf's determination to see that "king" six feet beneath the dirt. Cironis was almost there as he grabbed the wolf necklace around his wrist, and smirked as he saw Dietrich's blade. Make his strength his weakness... his smirk grew wicked as his vision began to tunnel, everything within his peripheral began to fade to unawareness, and all Cironis saw was a target. He was vaguely aware that he had let go of the necklace, that someone else was there... that someone who should be wasn't, and that his target was now engaged... Doesn't matter, Dietrich was his. It was only as Cironis was reaching his target, only as Cironis stepped into the split second gap left between Reila and Dietrich, only as the tension behind his automail fist began to uncoil as it flew through the air towards Dietrich did he realize who had just interrupted. Shit... Too late now. Cironis was committed, and couldn't break off, not if he wanted to remain alive.