Welcome to Gaia! ::

The large, dark hand closed around the spear that the small General left him and Gehenna could only stare as he surged forward to deal with the beast. There was an unexpected pang of guilt in his gut as he watched him dwindle off towards the hulking creature, as he watched and knew that this was a fight he would have been equipped to handle before. It wasn't often that he didn't take the risk - he wasn't meant to be the one standing behind and making the careful decisions. He was the fighter, the brawler, the risk-taker: he was the berserker.

He nodded in solemn agreement, the only thing he could manage through his guilt. Then there was a whirl of new combatants - an eternal who attacked before asking questions, and then..

Eir.

The Page had started to step forward as Castor arrived on scene, he had even gone so far as to pull back the spear in preparation to follow that botched tiara toss. Yet he stopped dead in his tracks, frozen with some unknown emotion at the sight of a woman that was and wasn't someone he knew.

Someone he had known.

Someone Rayyan had known.

The hand not clenched around Benitoite's spear raised to his temples as he stilled beneath her words and images he didn't want to remember fluttered through his head. He drew a breath to steady himself in the moment, in now instead of the past, but it didn't stop him from recalling the way it felt to lay prone across the ground with his blood seeping away from him. His whole body had ached, so battered that he had felt like one large sack of bones and flesh. Then he heard the words, burning through his skull, and felt himself choke on blood not actually crawling up his throat.

Is Sylvi okay?

Another breath drew deep into his lungs as the images faded and his nostrils flared with the intake. She was rousing the plague of memories that had been forced upon him and it left a sour taste on his tongue in the wake. The deep, brown eyes opened and focused on the mirror senshi with such ferocity that it was no question what his answer would be before he ever opened his mouth to address her. Somewhere close by, he knew, Benitoite would be waiting to finish this.

"Wraiths are no friend to people and neither are your charges." The spear the General had given him raised and pointed at her - non-threatening, but showing her clearly that it was in his grasp if he needed it. The muscles in his shoulders and arms had gone rock still, like a cat poised on the edge of movement. There was knowledge in him that he hadn't earned but with it came a steadying calm that he would not begrudge - perhaps this had been the purpose, after all. He knew now that Rayyan would not have let this creature run rampant - he had not when it had mattered.

"Do not make me strike you down, Mjolnir. It is a reflection of something meant only for blood and war. Let it fight. There is no honor in protecting it."

Castor- Eternal to Royal form

The response he got from the present negaverse agent made him sneer. So this was just another creature that chaos had created that just magically happened upon the city? And this agent was just doing good? He could have laughed at the fact that the agent was basically being a blatant traitor in aiding those of order and the same could have been said of the knight who was near him.

"The only drink I'd take is one from your hallowed out skull, but, I'm quite sure that you're not even fit to serve that purpose."

Blue eyes looked to the dark mirror senshi that had arrived on the secen and his scowl only deepened to a near snarl of frustration. He was tired, healing, and the last thing he wanted was another meeting with either Leto or Remarque to discuss keeping their charger under control. And he didn't even want to now have to face the fact he'd have to talk with them about this wraith creature none the less.

He was Castor, and despite it all, he was sworn to fill a role.

He was a royal who's purpose was to eradicate chaos and fight. And right now, he was facing having to take action and risk two very beneficial alliances that he'd crafted for very explicit purposes. Leto was to prevent needless senshi deaths. Remarque was to curb the alliance of the negaverse and those of the senshi not under Metallia's thrall.

What was worse of it all?

What was worse was he knew the woman reflected on the creature's skin. He knew that cut of hair, the faint scars, the way the armor glittered even in the faint light. He knew the face, and he knew the name. The name that had died like all mortals died before they were reborn as senshi. The woman who's been called a king and had left him to save her people as he'd once had to do, so many lifetimes ago.

It was an added layer of problems.
And added layer of guilt.

"Mjolnir." He doubted she's know her past. He knew not all the complexities of those who were pulled through mirrors to the thrall of chaos, but he knew enough.

This Mjolnir was not Saga. This was a woman who knew not how they had once been; that once, they had wished to be nothing other but mortals rather than destined souls. She would not have her memories. She would not remember the taste of Castorian wine after battle. She would not remember the battle that had cast her brother out and placed her on a throne she'd been destined for. She would not remember the feeling of soft fur against skin as they had lain beside a fire, whispering small comforts as they secretly worried if they would see the light of dawn when their battles would be over.

"That being is not your legacy." He could not let this come to pass. Remarque, for his dreams of returning to space- this was a fragmented, broken reflection of a lifetime that had been twisted by Chaos. This was nothing but a poorman's substitute.
This was an anomaly, one that if anything, posed more a risk to those who were from the mirror than anything.

"I remember the berserkers of Mjolnir." Cold and ice felt good on his skin, the weight of his armor like a comforting blanket and the strength of his wings helping to keep him posed to react. To act.
"I remember the way they would charge into the heat of battle. I remember the wordless screams and shouts of battle, pride and honor. I remember Mjolnir, as I remember her greatest King Saga. You are the legacy of Saga. You are the legacy of Mjolnir." He could not imagine the pain the woman must feel, to see her past standing before her, knowing it was not the truth, knowing it was not the real thing.

Knowing it was something taken from her and twisted.

"That is not one of her warriors. That is a wraith. A being crafted from Chaos. Of Chaos. I feel it as I feel all being created from that energy. Beserkers were not Chaos. They were men. Mortal men and proud warriors. I am sorry Mjolnir." He took a deep breath, walking forward in a slow charge.

"I cannot allow Chaos to take the legacy of Saga, of you, and use it for it's own gains." He was being practical. He wasn't being sentimental.
"I will not allow the dark mirrors to be subjected to shadows of pasts they cannot see."
He was not wanting to reach out, and tell her of memories that she'd never know.
"You deserve the truths of your pasts, just as you deserve your worlds."

He charged forward, fist curled and the ice that coated it thick and layer with jagged spikes.
"Heaven's Fury!"

Castor attacks Smol/Mewmew ;u ; for dmg

He wanted to say a thousand things to her. He wanted to hold her, tell her a thousand apologies for what could have been and what never was. To give her small truths, to betray his alliances and let slip secrets that would jeopardize the small trust he had with the only other prince among the senshi. But Mjolnor would not remember him or her world. She was shut from it, just as all the dark mirror were.

"Your prince-" he wanted so much.

Pulling back ice and glass were fragmented in his forearm, cuts bleeding and soaking the ground under him. How many times had he felt that pain now? It was numb; A dull throb to remind him to see it taken care of.

"-keeps many secrets Mjolnir. You would do well to ask more of him." He stepped away and stared at the woman in her fury a small melancholic smile tugging at his lips.

Saga had looked at him like that once.

"Do not dishonor your people and call it a ghost of them. This is an illusion of that past. A memory given form. Honor them and see the harsh truth you want to deny beserker king. This is a creature that has drawn from you to become a desire in your heart."

He pulled out a shard of glass and cast it before her.
"Were this a true berserker, I would know fear. Were this one of your warriors, I would tremble with anticipation for the thrill of our fight." He refused to move at her pushing, refused to budge. He didn't want to go. To leave her. Seeing Saga again, even briefly? It hurt. It hurt to remember.

"Your heart is your starseed. Whatever magic the mirror has upon you and the others I do not know, but it does. It took this from you because in the end we senshi are the guardians of our people. Our souls are tied to our worlds and her children. This is a memory given form. Nothing more." He let his hands fall to his sides, but he did not move from his place, his eyes never leaving the creature.

"Give it a warriors death if you must honor it Mjolnir. But you must face the reality. It is not one of your beserkers. Just a memory you can't recall. It was never alive to start with, and you and yours deserve a better reality that glass shadows of your pasts."

A warrior's death.

A sudden chill gripped the base of Gehenna's spine as he remembered, all too well, as similar words passed the lips of the Mjolnir he had known. Perhaps this woman was not the same, no more than he was truly Rayyan, perhaps even less now that she had been robbed of all of her memories. Chaos did that, if he recalled all the long talks he'd shared with Nemesis about her, well, nemesis. That haunting, wicked doll that had turned her wicked sights on him, too.

Tanais had been claimed by chaos and so too, obviously, had Mjolnir.

The fight in him drained the moment Castor dealt the killing blow and he watched, with less satisfaction than he had thought he'd feel, as the creature began to splinter and die. She still defended it, still cried over it because it was an anomaly of the mirror court - not because it was a bastardization of something truly great, or something that meant anything to her as the Senshi of Berserkers.

She was not the woman that had trained Rayyan.

"Let it go to Odin, if it's truly what you think it is. Its greatest honor is not serving you."

The dark eyes of the Page shifted, at last, to the General that had been his temporary ally - he knew this would be the last, the only time, that they stood on the same side of the battlefield. A small nod was all he offered, a thanks for the truce and guidance, before he tossed the spear sidelong so that Benitoite could catch it.

Then he was turning, leaving down the path he had arrived. There was nothing else he needed to see.

The battle was won.

[Ghen Exit]

Tomlin, Order Guardian Cat

Tomlin watched the proceedings with glassy eyes. Those around him spoke up with biting condemnations, and he wanted to argue with them, speak in favour of the monster that was clearly more than youma, precious to the dark-clad senshi. But he had no breath – it had crushed him. He had no strength – he’d attacked it right back. Without questioning.

It had every right to life, whatever it was. If it had life, it had the right to it. But it was jagged gaps and fading energy. Life was leaving, deserved or not. Strange to see the same mighty hand that had crushed him, torn into glassy shreds by ice that seemed at this distance just as glittering, just as fragile.

Part of him wanted to stay, as the others turned away. Surely there was something that could be done for the senshi and her creature. But he was so tired. He couldn’t watch a ‘warrior’s death’. Not when the fight had been over. When there’d been a chance to save it – and they hadn’t.

Mustering what remained of his strength, Tomlin dragged himself to back to four paws. He rubbed his cheek against the kindly red-heeled senshi’s leg in gentle farewell. He was grateful for her assistance, but he could find his own place to crash for the day. He doubted he’d be great company anyway.

Mourning was a private thing. He would leave this Mjolnir to her shattered mirror grief.


[Tomlin exit]