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"I chose you," she said bitterly, but somehow distant, detached. It was her will, but it also wasn't. Her purpose, but not her actions.

Still the spears rained down as they talked, the clone a speck of dust compared to Jack's peril. Somewhere underneath the layers of protection, Chel cringed to see him driven into the corner like a beaten dog. To say he only wanted to save himself seemed a cruel afterthought.

"I'm sorry," she says as her voice breaks, because Chel is always sorry for any action that hurts a soul, but even more when it's Jack's. Her words are like an echo, as a spear emerges from the air, this one more ornate than the others, the last spear that had stayed her. It raises above her head for a moment, and then drives itself into the heart of Jack's armor, right below his sternum. She doesn't bother going for a vulnerable part of his armor; parlor tricks and gags seemed a lifetime away. She wanted to break what was supposed to be unbreakable.

Even now, she's not sure where she begins and protection ends.

Hurricane

It was truly unfortunate that he had to do Business and missed the fantastic face punch.

Dawson scratched under his jaw almost sheepishly. "Yeah." There was a hint of sadness in it, but if the clone had come here willingly despite that, maybe there was hope yet. "You got choices jus' like she did. I know you prob'ly got a pendant, so you could just skedaddle if ya want. But he's here." He didn't doubt this clone had similar abilities like Caly did and could sense that. "N' we need him, man."

His lips twisted. "I-I know y'all ain' all...I know it don' feel good bein' here."

It didn't matter what she declared. All that could be seen from under the faceless mask was a person who stood opposite him in every conceivable way, too weak to protect anyone without vying for power from whatever source would grant it. The only loyalty he felt coming from her now was the vow to haunt his tracks and burden him however she could, to become contrary to what he wanted if it served her purpose more. There was no room for love in the form he had in this moment, only something as unforgiving and vicious as the armor he wore.

And sorry meant absolutely nothing when she levelled those weapons at him.

Again and again the spears were deflected by blade and off his hardened exterior. Despite his perpetual exhaustion, he never tired enough to let her get a hit in; desperation, indignation, and a thirst for conflict were an unhealthy combination but a powerful one nonetheless. By coincidence or through the sinister effect he'd invited in, Jack remembered the vision in the Tower months and months ago: of his so-called friends banding together to destroy him; of even Owain leaving him to die for his actions. He couldn't hear the giant now, only the white noise roar calling him to kill.

He thought nothing of the last spear Chel had, only that without it he could finally get close enough to tip the scales in his favor at last. And in his blind bid to reach out with blackened clawlike hands, he failed to see that the spear had driven itself through his armor. Only when something white hot overrode the constant haze of pain he was already in did he falter and snarl and struck the ground with his sword to keep standing. Somehow Protection felt more insidious than Vengeance did as it snaked around the entry wound, blue light and black crystal fighting to encase one another at the expense of his own body's make up.

(One by one, they were going to try and kill him. I'm sorry, she says, bandaids for bullet holes.)

He forced himself forward regardless, a gash made in his wake as he made what felt like quite literally a death march towards her. Even through the mask she could feel the burning glare and an absolute hatred behind it, pressurized like a sharp diamond.

Hurricane

It took just enough movement to pull Maebe's head away from the curtain of hair she'd lost herself in, and one eye peeked out to see what looked very suspiciously like Dawson talking to a man who was also lying unconscious near her feet.

She tensed up, eyes narrowing at the obvious conclusion, and her arms tightened around both of the people she held, possessiveness taking over.

Was this going to become a habit, with him?

The hostile aura Jack could exude at will seemed to thicken the air. "You would--" His arm lashed out to hold her in place by the neck, if she was so willing to leave herself open. "You'd ******** take this from me too? After everything I've given you?" he demanded coldly. "Everything I've done?"

It wasn't that she need instruction or she had to reply on someone to tell her what to do. It was a sentiment that she felt herself useful. She nodded at Mary, and went out, but he didn't see she look back at him, when he taking care of the patients.

The glimmer of her eyes dimmed when she walked on the ruined corridor, the patients made her think of her brother, who struggled to survive in severe injuries. She missed him even they said it was her fault, if she didn't stay near him, he won't suffer from that. No one knew how big a bliss for her when she heard of the beep of the heart monitoring device down the hole, it was a statement for "I'm alive". She could feel the spirit and determination to live though they were unconscious, she wanted to cry.

While she was alive, she drifted like a leave on a river. She couldn't find her purpose of living. They exchange their lives for hers, and she would have live a colorful life on behalf of them. Nevertheless, she felt she didn't belong to anywhere. She constantly felt distressed though she had a desire to protect people. Sometimes, she even had a thought of dying in protecting someone. It felt meaningful.

Most of the time, she didn't understand. There were so many people struggled to live but couldn't, and she didn't even know how to live. The world is so unfair.

She let her weapon tell her what to do, acted like a puppet on strings. The more life force she felt from the patients, the more gloomy she was. She was glad they seemed fine, she cursed why they could live but not her siblings. "Who do you live for?" she wanted to ask them because she didn't know that answer anymore.

Carrying a medkit she found, she continued her search. Today, many lives passed, but still not hers. She wondered if she was one of the deceased, would anyone be sad for her? Would she haunt someone's memories like her sisters to her? Only those who surrounded by death understand the saying of "the living suffer more"

It made sense. But he was hesitant. Why should he give up his life, fleeting and stolen as it was? "You'll wake him up just to kill him," he said, instead of moving. "I thought you said you cared about me - him. You said he was important to you."