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Titanlåvenite practiced as he always did. Daily schedules were easier to keep, being daily, and having a schedule still kept him productive and on task. Even if it felt like to drowning and stagnation. Inasmuch as it was scheduled and made available to subordinate officers to come, they never did.

It was a hitch in the stagnation, an unusual blip of extra, potent energy packed into a single presence that another officer was seemingly-suddenly there. He looked over the distance of the packed ground, over the spiny and ridged back of a feral youma that his hands grappled and held at distance from himself. The one who had arrived was well-knit together. Statuesque, with a uniform that made sense and looked blessedly mostly business. Looked rightly nervous, so wasn't ignorant of the very real threat that the youma could pose as much to agents as to anything else: to have a starseed was to be a possible source of food.

With a pivot of hips and weight, the strongman-c**-general hucked the beast aside some feet, then drew his weapon from Otherspace to lay heavily before it's path. Thankfully this feral had played with him before, and possessed enough predatory cunning to know that the weapon meant more likely chances of being dusted and having to reform itself in the corners of the Rift. It was a waste of energy. It didn't like that. It smoothed it's hackles and turned away, leaping along crystals back into the lurid shadows and strange geometries of beyond the Colosseum. General Titanlåvenite lifted his hammer to shoulder and set to crossing to the new-comer. He didn't recognize her on sight, nor on closer inspection as he reached conversational distance.

"We have not met. Did you come to train?"

She came out to meet him directly, which spoke very well. Aware of her surroundings, nervous of them, but she wasn’t cowered by them. That was a good deal, given the strangeness of youma, magic, and unknown officers. Her given callsign drew a large and genuine smile, “I see. It is a good name and fits you. “

She would probably grow all the more to resemble it once Chaos no longer whispered, but fitted in godlike through every sinew, roaring. A captain, some few months away, and then a General herself. He did not grudge it. She looked like she would be one of the ones quick to deserving. Closer up, it was easy to imagine she trained formally in something, with no extraneous looking bulk to her. And she was tall for “The Sovereigns and Generals maybe have rules about how they name us all that they haven’t told me. We are two in kind. I am Titanlåvenite."



Where has the dread gone? The worry of the swallowing? But concerned thoughts faded quickly to make room for recalling the list of skills and expectations in training for Lieutenants. There had been those pamplets, helpful things, and Alkahest had given him one on asking in the second day of his own promotion. There was no point in covering ground that she had already mastered, which would depend a little on how long and with whom she worked regularly. “ Who is your commander? And how long have you been an officer, Titanite? “

There is a smile. It was a hesitant sun, one still unready to give up its clouds. It was a usual, and again wise, habit to find in the Negaverse. At least it meant she was less likely to be completely unhinged, bloodthirsty and feral. Guarded smiles still had reasons to guard, whether altruistic or entirely self-serving. “Sphene...it rolls less from the mouth. But it isn’t bad to have more than one name. Big Titan works for me.” He squinted amiably. “But you are not so small! Still bigger than most. “

General King Marthozite and 2011. He and Anna had moved to Destiny City in 2011, to Hillworth, and plenty of strange happening had followed, but his service into the Negaverse? The burning eyes of the General King Howlite hadn’t conscripted him and others until the spring of 2013, two years later than Titanite’s projection. And hers had been a service by choice at the first, it sounds.

“You’ve served longer than I have. I didn't know Marthozite.” He offered it gently and without judgement one way or another on her abilities. Only recognition that she would be familiar with the bread and butter of operations. Admitting, even as an offering of understanding and commiseration, that he'd lost his own commander and been unworthy for a long time felt out of place. It was the sort of conversational bridge for civilians, people who didn't steal souls as a pastime, and for those who weren't so often likely to be drilled to 'fink' on each other for gain. Or to avoid pain. Hessonite's was the Sovereign still of the Special Operations.

“There is no pity in these halls. A recent promotion is something plain to work from. You will be faster and stronger, and your mind will need to practice with them so that you don’t overshoot. Come-“

He held up a hand inviting toward the expanse of open ground. “Call your weapon. Spar with me. You don’t have to worry about hitting me too hard. You look very fit? “

“You are weapon.” Titanlåvenite unshouldered his hammer and crossed a few steps away from her, roughly the same distance as Obsidian’s sword out of habit. It was possibly the old man had known her, Marthozite, others. Maybe they were of an age, if she identified herself as old. Old as far as he could tell in this war tended to be late twenties. The glamour made estimates difficult, the same way makeup and laser treatments did in civilian life. Had there been divisions then? Which was she a part of, or which had Marthozite best suited? A kickboxer was a useful, resilient martial sport to recruit from, in any case. Fast, and with a lot of force packed into small points—fists and knees that could break limbs.

The strongman gave a deep breath and readied nod. Then struck the hammer in a sweeping, dragging golf swing up between them as he started forward. Rocks and dirty threw up between them, like a chunkier more forceful sand-in-eyes tactic.

Fleet of foot- she was already moving and dodging. Ja, good.

Does she fight professionally, as a kickboxer? Like some others. They do that MMA. Do Kickboxers? Maybe she teaches, if she is old. A pleasant classroom view.

He followed her motion with the Hel-faced pommel of his hammer arcing down before the weighted head of it would follow. He wasn't afraid of hurting her- it happened in battles and they had the benefit of magical healing. And that sort of pity was as much a cruelty in training- lessons from his own commander long ago carved into him with a sword the size to cut horses in half. Honor her skill, and do not insult her with pulling punches beyond measure.

“Good speed, captain-”

“ Queen’s blessing, “ It was always a bit more challenging to try to talk much when sparring, or in battle. It was a part of it, though. Morale had as much to do with words between combatants as from commanders. And it was important to building up rapport and trust in a spar, to be able to talk about what was happening. “It is a slow weapon. Better for siege. ”

The General had no hesitation in following after, nor over-eagerness: she’d agreed to the spar, so there was no urgency in chasing any more than between boxers. They were in the arena, like a roped-ring with no escape, and were there to fight until one or the other called it.

A lunge and sweep out with one hand slid to the end of the grip, Titanlåvenite threw and drew the weight of the head in an arc along the ground like a more violent Skip-It for her legs to tangle, leap, or otherwise

Close- Even while his arm was out and extended with the momentum of the hammer, she was lifting and moving in. The left arm he could disengaged, to bring up in a guarding position, a hope for scalemail and epaulet to mitigate some impact a knee or shin was brought to bear. But there wasn’t anything she was telegraphing to be able to specifically brace for. Nothing she was actively doing yet.

But she was near. And he was only just getting the weight of the hammer back around with his right arm.