>#TEAMRING: Rock the heist (FINAL PART) The Condesce lunges at the Rogue, but the Thief catches )(er 2x3dent in her own. They clash, identical faces glaring at each other as the Rogue is beset by a wholly different fork. The Maid, enraged, thrusts a flurry of stabs at the Rogue, who can do little but dodge and weave as she looks into the bright blue eyes of her dear friend. The Condesce keeps healing, and the Thief keeps taking damage. She’s forced to endure the same evasive dance as the Rogue, until... they switch partners. The Thief has no qualms fighting the Maid, and the Rogue has defeated the Condesce once before. It’s a much more favourable matchup. Though she’s long passed the need for a strife specibus, the Rogue still favours Fistkind for close quarters. She deftly dodges the 2x3dent over, and over, and over - and when she doesn’t, it still doesn’t hit her. Her fists crack against the sopor-slowed Condesce’s ribs, and this time they don’t heal. The Thief takes a while to notice. Her own 2x3dent finds much more purchase in the Maid’s body. The maid raises a hand towards one of her cuts, and... nothing happens. Both realize instantaneously what this means. The Thief has stolen the Maid’s power of Life. No more healing. From there, the fight is almost easy. Almost. The Rogue is aggressive, attacking in far closer range than the Condesce’s weapon can effectively connect. She discards it, then, showing off why she really wears all those rings. The fight is messy - all grabbing and punching and hair-pulling and bloody teeth and exhaustion. The Rogue pokes the Condesce in the eyes, a crude tactic to nullify her optic blasts. For as many hits as the Condesce lands, she misses two more, passing right through the Rogue as though she was never there. It all ends when the Rogue passes through the Condesce entirely, getting behind her and grabbing her skull. She whispers something in her finned ear - something unheard by all others - and in one quick motion, snaps her neck. The sound is sickening. It draws the eyes of the other Life players, and the Maid cries out in shock. Before anyone present can respond, the Manor shakes with a thundering HONK. Both heroes instinctively turn their heads, watching as cracks form in the cieling. By the time the shaking stops and they look back... the Maid and the defeated Condesce are nowhere to be seen. Along with the drained ring. -- A lumbering green fist swings downwards towards the still-dodging Sprite, only for the Heir to manifest just in front of them. The fist connects with the Heir, and the Heir connects with the Sprite, sending them both flying through several floors. The Lord is Already There to meet them, of course. Quick thinking from the Sprite ducks both heroes into the past just before they can be hit with that dream-shattering beam attack of his. He, of course, was Already There, Too, so there is little respite. Both were prepared for this. The Sprite unsheaths a new pair of claws - Fearful Symmetry. The Heir pulls out The Note Desolation Plays. Each weapon was specifically designed for the Lord. The Sprite pounces into action, needling the Lord from every angle, locking him down to a single timeframe. They’ve had practice with this, sparring with other Time players. The Heir hits hard. Each time his hammer connects, it sends the Lord stumbling more than he will ever care to admit. There is a rage in her attacks, a frustration. This is personal. But, of course, The Lord is inevitable. As hard as he is hit, he hits back. His sceptre cracks the Heir’s ribs, his bullets clip the Sprite’s wings. His roaring HONK shakes the very foundation of the Manor, and the floor falls away once more, opening into a ballroom. The dust is thick. None can see a thing, until it’s blown away by a pair of white wings. The Lord’s billiard-ball eyes lock with the bright green of his long-lost sister. Time seems to stop. The space between the two, at each end of ruined ballroom, seems infinite. Even the Heir and Sprite pause midway through eating their pixelated healing items. All is silent. Then, a roar. The Lord’s jaw unhinges. The Muse’s wand unsheathes. A beam of flashing, many-coloured light explodes from his throat. The Muse casts a spell, warping space around her so thoroughly that even light, even pure magic, bends to her will. The beam fizzles, and both are left exactly where they started. There is another long, painful pause, before the Heir takes his hammer to the Lord’s goddamn kneecaps. The rest of the fight is a flurry of wings and wind and claws and wings and bullets and blasts. The Lord ignores whatever damage he takes from the Heir and Sprite, focusing solely on the Muse, who, for her part, does a lot of dodging. She’s not a fighter. She never has been. She thanks her lucky stars she’s never needed to be. But today, she finally aims her pistol at another person, if the Lord can even still be called that. Where the Lord’s magic is massive and overwhelming, her blasts are thin and precise. And, to her credit... she does some damage. Perhaps it’s her White Magnum, perhaps it’s old Cherub rules about fated battles, but she manages to get past that invulnerability of his. The Lord is nowhere near defeat, of course. It’s not until the Rogue and Thief finally arrive that a stalemate is forced. The Lord roars one last time, and the fighting stops. The dust settles. Nobody can afford to fight any longer. The combatants are beaten, bruised, bloodied. Some have broken bones. Even the Lord knows that fighting five gods, conditionally immortal or not, carries risk. Especially with that damned juju in play. Reluctantly, he tells them to just get the fuck out of his house. The heroes pick each other up and gather together. Anticlimax aside, they’ve gotten what they came for. The Heir does her best to breathe steadily, to focus on home. He clicks his heels, and the five heroes disappear into the wind. Exeunt omnes.