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Catalena nodded at Pullman's offer, made sure she was not too terrible close to any of the others, and unwrapped the amulet, then let it hang in the air, glittering dully like a watchful eye dried out and staring at whatever last image it had seen before it died. It floated listlessly out into the clearing as Catalena calmly put her hands on her swords, trying to calm her beating heart. This would give any magic-user in the area an instant signature from her, and whoever it was was certainly a ranged caster, to have produced that army of minions, but... if the targets hadn't already noticed them by this point, they wouldn't have been assigned this post. Still... it was not a particularly appealing prospect, to make herself the most vulnerable.

She enjoyed being the centre of attention, usually, and she had reason to trust her cohorts, but it was hard to. Catalena had believed for a long time that she was the only person in this world with any degree of competency; it was what she had learned, and it was what she had experienced. The fact that she had been set on level playing ground with the others only somewhat dispelled her reticence. Whatever came after her ploy, and she knew it would not go without rebuff, it was on those three she was forced to rely. But... could she rely on them?

No matter! What were these doubts? This was her life! This was her raison d'être! To remove those who believed they could oppose her- to destroy any instance of once-perceived superiority! Whatever the challenge, this was a moment; a moment only she could have, and hold her own. One man had known the value of moments. A man; a man, of all genders in this species-chaotic universe, a man had known moments. And so she grinned to herself. This was here, and this was now, and this was hers.

"Because I will be exposing myself, it would be wise to move away from me. Do not look directly into the jewel without proper mental buffers," she cautioned them after waiting for whatever additional positioning they required. "I do not want to waste time splitting my consciousness even further." As the amulet entered the clearing, it suddenly became more attractive. Its gleam came back to life and the eye seemed to expand as it hung down and began swaying back and forth, slower than that length of chain should have allowed.

Catalena swiftly pinpointed her allies, then shielded them as a field of command pulsed out of her, in the vague direction of their targets.

WATCH.

In the field of vision of anyone paying it any attention, this was becoming the only object in the world. It was... it was God...

"We lost it."

"Huh?"

"The other signature went dark entirely."

The mana signature within the clearing remained in place as the artillery piece fired again. However, several zombies' wordless groans came from the surrounding wilderness.

The Ghoster nodded slightly, but never bothered to glance up toward the sniper. "Eyes open. Nothing's come close yet, but it seems we've got more Undead roaming below. Swift and silent, Petrachkov." Again, Grayson assumed his ethereal form for which his kind were renowned, and floated over to another tree and took up his position there. If the Russian Shadowman was going to start moving, he'd have to come toward Romack. If he didn't, the Ghoster now had a better chance of catching someone off guard should they choose to assault his squadmate.

The zombie collapsed as the sword arced around behind the artillery piece. Moments later, Catalena experienced a rather confusing moment as the blade seemed to vanish - it was not just moving behind the artillery, but rather the very physical object her telekinesis was applying to seemed to have disappeared.

What came next, all of the Tyrgani agents felt. The being on the other side of the artillery piece had risen; it walked around to face Catalena while remaining concealed from Petrachkov and, to some degree, Romack.

A loud crack came from the forest, accompanying a muzzle flash; the tree branch upon which Petrachkov had perched immediately shattered at the base, sending him tumbling to the ground; he caught himself easily, guided by his Personal Armor, and returned to his feet.

Petrachkov dropped from the tree, landed on his feet, and took cover in a thicket of roots, bringing the AK to bear again. "Uh, just a zombie - lemme -" Petrachkov fired a round, aiming carefully so as to eliminate the zombie's head, thus its senses, thus its ability to aim.

Presuming success, Petrachkov returned to the issue at hand. "Okay, they saw where I was - I don't see myself as able to disappear at this point, not quick, so - ah - I don't know, you want me to stay here and wait for him to get drawn out or do you want me to do somethin' specific?"

"I'm afraid your interference ends here, lords an' ladies," the man said. As they came closer, his form, once indistinct in the darkness, became dimly defined; he tapped his foot and the artillery piece behind him fired, the flash of light from its mana discharge blinding for a moment, outlining the silhouette of his trench coat, his combat boots, and his spiked hair. "Let's get a look at you, shall we?" he commented, throwing a hand towards them. Several trees abruptly lit on fire, filling the clearing with an angry orange light; the lone Cabal agent looked at his Tyrgani foes. He looked to be in his 60s, which with modern biomancy and nanothaumatechnology meant he was still young enough he could pretend to be in the prime of his life with a little work. He appeared to be some form of European, probably several races.

Catalena struck first, though struck is an overly strong description for her attack; it was subtle, it was perfect, a gentle probe followed by a sudden drive at a weakness, supported by her amulet's hypnotic effects - until she found herself completely locked out. "And, if the feedback technique works right..." he muttered before she could register what happened. With no warning, not even some sort of mana pulse, she found herself flung back, slamming against a tree. "Hey, it works. Whaddaya know. And you always said Shadow magic wasn't our kind of thing, H."

Romack and Petrachkov struck next in unison, Romack opening fire from the air and Petrachkov from the ground. Their opponent spun his hands in an arc, and a gale in front of him drove the bullets everywhere but into him. The whirlwind still active, he drew a pistol and took careful aim, raising his right hand towards Petrachkov. Petrachkov took the shot, feeling a sharp impact through his armor, followed by several more; none penetrated, but all of them hurt so much he could barely move any more. Romack Ghosted as he fell towards the ground and their assailant extended his left hand; Romack briefly noticed that the last two fingers on the mage's hand were cybernetic - not even biomanced.

This was, of course, moments before a torrent of fire washed over him; the heat-based attack caused him to briefly black out (in addition to the burns it caused). It was odd, really - it seemed he knew exactly how to deal with each of them, Romack reflected as he rematerialized and fell.

Pullman, by this point, had gotten behind the Cabal man and was ready to strike with the full force of Issaquah behind him.

"Gert?" Crunch. Pullman had a moment to wonder what had happened before he realized Issaquah was quite gone and a female vampire in black leather was biting his arm. Hard. "Enough, Gert. Look at him, he's so scrawny he's not worth the blood it'd cost to take him down."

"Aw, but he'll wear himself out if he tries to resummon his demon so soon after I absorbed his body," the vampiress complained.

"More trouble than he's worth."

"Why the makeup, though? It's obvious who you are." Romack asked as he reoriented himself, waking up as the subtle differences of his Ghoster physiology restored his consciousness.

"Fair enough." The Cabal man drew some water from the air and washed his face; subtle effects, all mundane, had transformed his features completely, it seemed. They realized they were facing a man they'd only seen images or videos of.

Takeshi Watanabe, the Necromancer-Elementalist, the Bloodhound of Gertrude, a vampire known for her insanity - and the four hundred years the vampire courts had spent attempting (and often failing) to contain her.

"Think they got the message, dearie?" Gert asked, looking at Takeshi with wide eyes.

"I'm pretty sure they did," Takesh replied with a smirk. Petrachkov stared at the man's Asian features and realized how powerful the man he was facing was; he'd been infamous even without magic, and now he'd been practicing under Legion's direct tutelage for 34 years. They had been baited and they were being permitted to live. The artillery piece fired off another shot.

Takeshi muttered something and gestured at his shadow; a ridiculously tall, muscular man rose from it.

"What'd you think, Skullcracker?"

"We're not discussing this in front of them, Takeshi," the man replied in a rumbling voice.

"Ah. Right. Right." He sighed. "At base then?"

"Yeah."

Takeshi threw a small ball to the edge of the clearing where the Tyrgani operatives were, and they fell into a deep sleep as a cloud of gas emerged from it.

--

They reawakened on a bed in the infirmary of the Flying Dutchman.

"Nice of you to rejoin us," Cholos commented as they awakened.

"Cap can't be here right now, so he sent me," Miriam Belias informed them. "We more or less lost our connection to you guys when the fires started. What happened?"

Grayson was the second to consciousness, roused by the voices of Miriam and Petrachkov. He kicked himself up to a sitting position, irritated with the events that had transpired. Despite the unusual series of events, it didn't seem to faze him. "We weren't important," the Ghoster interjected into the conversation. "Not to them, anyways. Just messengers. Takashi and Gertrude are once more active on the international stage, and we just happened to be the ones pulled into the trap."

Romack had figured it would be a trap; that much had been obvious. That they were facing a powerful opponent was obvious. But how did he manage to hide that much power? It was Takeshi Watanabe, after all. With an audible sigh, he rose from the bed and stretched as gracefully as one could. It simultaneously painful and pleasant, stretching dry skin and working the kinks out of stiff muscles. What now? he wondered. This bit of news changed a lot of things.