Second Archon War: Sol Invictus 7 (Patreon)

Sol Invictus 7: The Heat of Metal

It turned out arming a thousand warriors was no simple task. It had been hard enough scrounging up a hundred useful weapons even in Mexico City. Guns were not the problem. They had found rifles, shotguns, pistols, even a few machine guns scavenged from dead soldiers and abandoned police stations.

The problem was that most of them were nearly worthless against anything dangerous. You needed elemental reactions to break shields, and melee weapons were about the only way to deal enough damage to the big ones outside of heavy artillery they simply did not have the ammo for. 

“You have-” Mavuika mimed hitting something with a hammer. “Make?”

“Smiths? I might find someone who knows how to make horseshoes if we were on a farm, but weapons? This isn’t Japan! There aren’t any trained weapon smiths!” Diego said in frustration. 

That had to be translated by Father Arpacio, and Mavuika shook her head. “Ah. This…ah, time? Yes. Time. Much change. The…bang bang,” she mimed a gun, “Fatui have. Natlan…sword. Spear. Hammer. Make much easy.”

“You knew the Fatui?” Carlo asked, curious. “Were they your enemies as well?”

“Mmm.” Mavuika rocked one hand back and forth. “Not simple. Some Fatui, enemy. El Capitano…” A smile touched her face. “Friend. Good friend. Fight Abyss. Khaenri’ahn.” 

“Could you teach smiths how to make weapons?” Elena asked Mavuika. “We have machinists and could find forges, but those won’t be much help. We need actual elemental weapons. Beating a hunk of metal into shape won’t do us much good.”

Mavuika shook her head. “No. Warrior. Leader. Not smith. Use weapon. Fix weapon. Not make weapon.”

Diego drew his sword and studied it for a moment. It was old, dating back to the nineteenth century, and it had history behind it. Enough history, enough Memory, that elemental energy had taken root in the blade and made it potent against the Abyss.

That much had been known for some time.

Simply beating steel into the shape of a sword would not accomplish the same thing. They needed the techniques used by the other Archon nations: ways of forging new weapons that could carry Memory and elemental power from the moment they were made.

“How did the Hegemony solve this problem?” Diego asked Carlo.

His brother sighed and shrugged. “The United States is a big nation. Many museums. Many old weapons. Mine dates from 1863 and the American Civil War.”

“Not to mention they raided more than a few Mexican museums,” Diego said in disgust, sheathing his sword.Carlo shrugged. “Most of those weapons were paid for, but yes. Either way, they’re gone.”

“Hey! We got a problem!” Tomás said, running in with a still squawking radio on his shoulder. “A pretty serious one!”

“Oh, what is it now, another Abyss portal?” Diego demanded as everyone stood.

The comms captain shook his head. “No, worse. I don’t know how, they’ve never been seen outside of Europe…but someone is reporting that the Clockwork is in Jocotitlán, about an hour and a half north of here.”

Diego swore and sprinted for the door even as Carlo took off, flying through an open window. Mavuika was right behind them, her hair igniting.

I did not understand. What is a ‘La Relojera’? Mavuika called as she ran for her own bike, Father Arpacio grimly trying to run after them.

“A Blasphemy!” Diego shouted, then picked up his radio. “Carlo! Get eyes on that thing, NOW!”

“Copy,” Carlo’s voice agreed. “Fuck. She was last sighted in New York on October 22nd last year, so it’s not impossible. But what the fuck is a Blasphemy doing in the middle of bumfuck Mexico?”

“What!? When did that happen?!” Diego demanded.

“I told you, in October! There was an APB put out, but it was Protectorate eyes only! I think they captured one of the others, but I don’t know if it was the Doll or the Porcelain!”

As Diego mounted up, Father Arpacio gave a brief but grim explanation of what the Blasphemies were: a trio Tinker created horrors from Europe, infamous for murdering their way through royalty, political leaders, and even high level capes. Their latest public victim had been Iron Mask himself, leader of France’s national cape team the Mousquetaires, but that had been more than a year ago now. 

No riding. We fly! Mavuika declared, and touched Diego’s bike.

It began to glow with the same rainbow light that surrounded Carlo when he used his powers now, and Father Arpacio hastily slid into the sidecar.

“I don’t know how to fly a motorcycle!” Diego laughed, then gunned the engine and soared off into the sky.

It’s simple. Don’t hit any birds, and aim for the sky! Mavuika called, roaring up beside him on her Flamestrider. Lead the way, Captain Diego!

Grinning, Diego radioed Tomás for directions and flew off after Carlo.

It was only another sixty kilometers to Jocotitlán, which they covered in mere minutes instead of the hour and a half it would have taken on the roads. Even before they landed, however, Carlo radioed back, sounding confused.

“I’m here, but…everything’s fine? At least, nothing’s on fire, and no one is screaming. I’ll do a circuit of the town, but…it sure doesn’t look like when the Blasphemies burned down Buckingham Palace.”

Landing, it turned out, was much harder than taking off.

Diego got the angle of his descent wrong, and there was a crunch, a squeal, and a shout from Father Arpacio. Then Diego tumbled right over the handlebars, while the sidecar bounced along the road for some distance before Mavuika swooped down and caught the old priest before he spilled out.

Diego tumbled along the dirt road before coming to rest in a ditch.

A few days ago, he probably would have broken half the bones in his body. As it was, he had instinctively called up a burning shield around himself, cushioning enough of the impact that he escaped with only a few bruises.

He glared over at the motorcycle and growled several oaths he was instantly grateful Father Arpacio had not overheard.

“Rough landing, eh?” Carlo asked, grinning as he set himself down on the road.

Diego responded with sign language. Carlo laughed, and Diego shook his head ruefully. Straightening up, he looked around.

It looked like…well, any number of sleepy little mountain towns. There were fields to his left and right, the town up ahead, and a long dirt road winding its way between the fields and out of sight. There were signs of damage and battle, but they looked like the result of roaming Abyssal monsters, not the catastrophic destruction left behind by rampaging robots.

“Will you idiots keep it down over there!?” an irate woman’s voice called. “I’m trying to fix this blasted pump!”

“Sorry!” Diego shouted back, wincing. “Just…wrecked my bike. We’re fine.”

“Wrecked your— Ooooo! You morons just keep BREAKING things!”

Out of a utility shed stomped a woman wearing a backward ball cap, smudged jeans, and a faded old STYX T-shirt. Her hands and cheeks were stained with grease, and she carried an old toolbox in one hand and a wrench in the other.

Despite the grunge, she wasn’t unattractive. Far from it, Diego noticed idly. She had rather pale skin for a farmer, and oddly enough, her Spanish sounded more like what you would hear in Madrid than rural Mexico.

“How the heck did you manage to wreck it like THAT?!” the woman demanded, planting her hands on her hips and glaring at the bike. “What did you do, drop it out of the sky!?”

“Something like that,” Diego admitted.

He glanced over at Mavuika, who had turned her flames off again and was leaning against her Flamestrider. She had produced a pair of sunglasses from somewhere and put them on as she regarded the strange woman with interest.

“Let me guess: without this, you’re stranded, and you need it to go off and join that crazy lady and her crusade. You’ve got a sword, and you’re young enough to think a stupid idea like that is romantic!” the woman ranted as she stomped over, pulling out several tools.

“You read me like an open book,” Diego chuckled.

He glanced around the village, frowning. “Hey, have there been many monster attacks? Hilichurls? Skaven?”

“There were a while ago, but those idiots cleared off and went somewhere else,” the woman explained as she lifted the bike.

Huh. She was stronger than she looked.

She examined it, shaking her head before gently setting it back down. “Not before they managed to wreck half the place and break what seems like every bit of farm equipment for twenty kilometers!”

“How much to fix the bike?” Carlo asked. He eyed his brother and grinned. “Twenty pesos says it’s more than the time you wrecked Dad’s.”

“That was more than ten years ago! I wasn’t even sixteen!” Diego protested.

“Did I say I was going to charge you something!? You’d just stick around and cause trouble! You might have to pay for some parts, but I can probably scavenge—”

The woman turned, caught sight of Mavuika, and froze.

“Ah, señora, let me introduce you to—” Diego began with a cough as the woman slowly got to her feet.

“Where did you get her?” she whispered, eyes fixed not on the Archon but on the Flamestrider. “She’s beautiful.” 

“Ah, that is a long story,” Diego said, coughing.

The woman turned, frowning: not at him, but at Carlo. Her eyes dropped to the scabbard at his belt. She examined it for a moment, then went pale.

“You…you’re Protectorate! What are you doing here?! Who sent you?!” Her gaze snapped back to the Flamestrider. “And where did you get THAT kind of Tinkertech!? Did you steal it?! They’ll come looking for it, idiots!”

“I am with the Lightkeepers,” Carlo said, looking uncomfortable. “I’m here to fight the Abyss.”

The woman swept her arms wide. “Well, look around, dumbass! No Abyss here! They cleared off days ago, even before the sun decided to show itself again. So take your fancy bike and get out of here! Leave the other. He’s hurt, but I can fix him.”

“We came for something else,” Diego admitted. “We were looking for-”

“Sandorōne-san!” a man’s voice called.

Diego turned.

An Asian man was coming around the side of a building, carrying a large sack filled with what looked like assorted farm-equipment parts. Like the woman, he wore jeans and an old T-shirt, with his hair pulled back into a short ponytail. Strangely, an orange kazoo hung around his neck.

More striking, however, was the aquamarine Anemo Vision glowing at his belt. Beside it hung an ornate, curved scabbard housing a Japanese katana.

Well. That explained the lack of destruction from Abyssal monsters, at least. Though not what a wandering samurai was doing here. Or who the crazy mechanic was.

The man shifted the sack, his free hand moving to the hilt of his sword. “Ah. Forgive me. I did not realize we had guests,” he said in rather accented Spanish.

“You’re the one who fought off the Abyss here?” Diego asked, his own hand resting on his sword hilt.

The man smiled faintly, then gave a formal bow. “Hai. I helped against the beasts, in some small way. I am but a wandering swordsman, known as Kazoo. Whom do I have the honor of addressing?”

“I am Captain Diego Diaz Rodriguez, of…well. A company that has not thought to name itself,” Diego said, returning the bow.

He gestured to Carlo, who nodded, his eyes never leaving Kazoo’s face. “This is my brother, Carlo Miller Rodriguez. With us are Father Angel Arpacio, and…our Lady,” Diego finished carefully.

Something was fishy here.

The mechanic had gone over to the Flamestrider and was practically salivating over it as she bombarded Mavuika with a series of rapid-fire questions.

“Are you a Tinker? Did you make this? This work is incredible! What’s the energy source? Elemental energy, obviously, but there’s something else. Something exotic. You’re not stupid enough to try to use the Abyss, right? No, of course not. Some sort of parahuman-based energy? But I don’t recognize it, and I’ve catalogued so many…”

She whirled on Mavuika. “Well?! What do you have to say for yourself?! Speak up!”

“¡Xinechmotlapopolhui! Cenca iciuhca otitlahtoh. Oc amo cualli nicmati Caxtiltecatlahtolli,” Mavuika said with a grin and a shrug.

Without missing a beat, the insane woman suddenly began spouting what sounded to Diego like the same language.

“¡Tlein tlamantli tlahtolmelahuacayotl inon!? Amo canah cah in no base de datos. Cuix… ah, amo tle pan. ¡Xiquitta inin material! ¿Quenin oticchihchih!? Aic niquittac itla ihui catqui, ihuan in isotopos—ca nel amo huel ompa hualehua in Tlalticpac Bet. ¡Ihuan inon chicahualiztli! ¡Monequi tinechilhuiz! ¡Cenca huei! In mediciones… zan achi amo niquineltoca!”

Mavuika peered over the edge of her sunglasses, then glanced at Father Arpacio, who looked as baffled as Diego.

Right.

Something was wrong.

Diego began drawing Pyro through his Vision.

“Sandorōne-san, kono monotachi wa kiken kamo shiremasen. Karera ni nani o akasu ka, mō sukoshi shinchō ni natta hō ga yoi no de wa nai deshō ka,” Kazoo said, his voice tight as he lowered the sack and placed his free hand on his scabbard, his body tensing.

“Mō, ochitsukinasai yo. Koko ni iru dare yori mo watashi no hō ga kiken datte, anata mo shitteru deshō?” the mechanic said, getting down on her hands and knees to peer beneath the bike.

“Honō no kami yori mo kiken na no desu ka?” the samurai asked, even as Diego and Carlo began to spread out, readying themselves for a fight.

The mechanic banged her head on the bike.

She yelped and shot upright. “What!? Kazoo, talk sense! The Pyro Archon!? Are you=”

The woman slowly turned toward Mavuika.

Mavuika grinned and gave her a thumbs-up.

“Oh.” The mechanic stared at her. “Well. I guess that explains the bike.”

She sighed and raised her hands. “Look, the only thing that idiot Kazoo is guilty of is sticking around when he should have left ages ago. If you’re going to kill me…can you at least let me look at your bike first? I really need to figure out that energy source…”

“Sandrone-san…I said I would not abandon my traveling companion,” the samurai sighed. He removed his hand from the hilt, and knelt in the dust, bowing his head. “Do not believe the rumors. My companion…she is not what you think. I do not understand everything…but I do know she is the reason none died in this village.”

He looked up, and met Mavuika’s gaze. “Not me.”

Mavuika glanced at Father Arpacio, who hastily began to provide a translation.

He was interrupted by the woman Diego was increasingly worried was a Blasphemy pointing a finger at him.

“Why are you doing that!? If she’s the Archon, you don’t need to! They have some sort of esoteric ability that renders their words comprehensible. I’ve tried analyzing it, but the waveforms just don’t match!”

She threw up her hands. “Half the time, they’re speaking some weird form of what sounds like Esperanto if you ran it through a thousand years of religious overtones and gave it loanwords from Chinese, Hindi, Arabic, and half a dozen other languages I haven’t been able to trace!”

“And the other half?” Father Arpacio asked, sounding genuinely intrigued.

“That’s the weird part! They’re speaking the local languages of wherever they landed, but again, with odd loanwords and accents like nothing I’ve ever heard!” Sandrone said, beginning to pace around the Flamestrider.

“Take Venti, for instance. Oh, you hear him singing in whatever language you speak, but he’s actually speaking German that got drunk at a Renaissance fair and then spent hundreds of years trading with China and Japan instead of its normal neighbors for some reason! You can tell! He’s picked up dozens of words that don’t belong anywhere in the Indo-European language family at all!”

“That…is an excellent way to describe it, my daughter,” Father Arpacio said, adjusting his glasses. “I have looked into the matter as well. Language is a hobby of mine, but-”

“Oh, don’t you start, priest!” Sandrone sneered. “Come on! You’ve figured it out by now! Me, your daughter? Please. I don’t even have a soul. I’m not even alive.”

She gestured sharply at herself. “Just a bunch of dumb Clockwork.”

Diego stiffened again, while Carlo obviously relaxed. Both, however, looked to Mavuika. The flames, he noted, were back.

You do have a soul, Sandrone. Why would you claim otherwise?

“There, you see!?” Sandrone gestured to Mavuika. “That’s the wave form! She’s still speaking that weird Uto-Aztecan language, but she just used a Polynesian loanword! Do you have any idea how crazy that is!?”

Sandrone folded her arms over her chest. “So. The bike is from Teyvat, right? What’s the energy source? I’ve gotten my hands on some Archon Tinkertech before, and let me tell you, whatever Focalors is using to make her meks is not elemental energy, but this isn’t that either!” 

Mavuika gazed at Sandrone, or, well, the Clockwork, over her glasses. Then she shook her head.

It is Phlogiston. A primordial form of Pyro energy used by the Dragon Sovereigns before the arrival of the Heavenly Principles.

“And there we go with the pseudo-religious gobbledygook!” Sandrone threw up her hands. “Do you have any idea how frustrating that is!? Can’t you talk like normal people and explain things rationally? But noooo, it’s ‘hear my Judgment’ and ‘your past sins’ this, and the next thing you know, you’re banished and you can’t even tell your sisters that you’re alive!”

Sandrone was panting now, her fists clenched, arms spread wide, a snarl on her face. Diego thought he was about to see an Archon fight a Blasphemy. But again, Mavuika surprised him.

So, it was the Judgment of the God of Justice you faced, was it? I sense its weight upon your soul, Sandrone.

The flames flickered around her.

The one you most certainly have. You are quite alive. You would not be able to hear my words otherwise.

“And what proof do you have that I have a soul, and I’m not just some mindless killing machine sent here to assassinate the new Pyro Archon?” Sandrone sniffed, turning her back on Mavuika as she knelt beside the Flamestrider.

Well, for one, you would be the most conspicuous and least effective assassin I have ever seen, Mavuika chuckled, shaking her head. For another, I gather it was you who defended this village? The traces of the Abyss are strong here. More than one Vision Holder alone could have hoped to defend against.

She regarded Sandrone thoughtfully.

But an advanced defense platform such as yourself? I do not think it would have been too much of a challenge.

Snarling, Sandrone stood and turned to face Mavuika.

As she did, her form…rippled.

The flesh seemed to collapse inward, sucked back into the body and revealing beneath it a terrifying frame of intricate bronze clockwork: interlocking plates, whirring gears, and tightly wound mechanisms nested beneath a woman’s silhouette. One arm resolved into a long, gleaming blade. The other into a heavy mechanical fist that Diego knew could rip the armor off a battle tank with ease.

“And what do you think now!?” the same voice demanded, though now it emerged subtly distorted, metallic beneath the fury. “You still think I have a soul!? You still think I’m alive!? I am the Clockwork! Of the Three Blasphemies! And you are not the first Archon I have faced!”

I think if you try to kill me, I can’t explain the principles behind my bike, or let you examine her, Mavuika said, examining her nails as if there wasn’t a homicidal terminator coiled to attack right in front of her. 

“I…” the flesh returned in an instant, and the odd mechanic in dusty jeans and a faded t-shirt reappeared. “You…you’d let me look at her? Really?”

Sandrone reached a hand towards the bike, then jerked it back. “What…what’s her name?”

Flamestrider. She was forged by Xilonen of the Children of Echoes, the finest smith I have ever met. You remind me of her, actually.

Mavuika grinned.

Tell me: can you grow cat ears and a tail?

“If you let me examine Flamestrider, I’ll grow whatever you want and thank you for it,” Sandrone said fervently.

Good! She needs a tune-up. Congratulations, you’re our new mechanic! Mavuika said, beaming happily. Unfortunately, the only things I know about Flamestrider are that she is very delicate, I break her too often, and she is not cheap to repair.

“I- what!? You-” Sandrone looked at the Flamestrider with abject longing.

“FINE! I am not letting a beautiful girl like this suffer just because some muscle-headed moron is riding her!”

She knelt and laid a gentle hand on the chassis. “Don’t worry, sweetie. Big Sis Sandrone is here now, and she’s going to make sure no idiot Archons abuse you anymore.”

She thrust out a hand without looking back. “Hey, you! Tall, dark, and stupid! Give me my wrench!”

“I think she means you,” Carlo said in a stage whisper, leaning towards Diego.

He shot his brother a venomous look, but passed Sandrone her tools as she began to tenderly go over the bike as though it were her favorite niece, and not a bit of machinery. 

“I don’t suppose you know anything about forging weapons?” he sighed, glancing over at Kazoo.

A slow grin spread over the Samurai’s face. “It is interesting you would ask that. I should introduce myself more properly,” he put his fists together and bowed deeply. “I am Kaedehara Kazuha, of Clan Kaedehara. We are known for our traditional methods of forging katanas. However, I have recently been trained by another in a similar, but very different, art. It is known as the Raiden Gokuden.”

“The what?” Diego asked, baffled.

Carlo sucked in a sharp breath. “You mean…you are one of the Japanese Smiths that the Raiden Shogun herself trained?”

“I have that honor,” Kazuha agreed.

“Ha! As if some ancient mumbo jumbo is the way to make REAL weapons!” Sandrone called without looking over her shoulder. “This idiot might be able to make you one sword in a WEEK!”

“Every other week,” Kazuha said mildly. “If I rush the process.”

“Pfff. Useless! I could make you a hundred swords in a day.”

“We don’t just need regular weapons, we need-” Diego began.

Sandrone shouted over him.

“Regular weapons!? You think the Clockwork, the most brilliant of the three greatest Tinkertech masterworks in existence, would make you regular weapons!? Please! Oh, sure, mine won’t be Japanese God-Forged blades, but they’ll be better than that crap the Fatui or the Hegemony issue their regular troops, and you don’t see people turning up their noses at THAT stuff!”

“Really? What would you need?” Diego asked, glancing over at Father Arpacio, who smiled and shrugged.

“The Lord works in mysterious ways, my son.”

“The Lord!? Oh, sure, give some invisible man in the sky credit for my work!” Sandrone huffed.

She stood, pausing to run an affectionate hand over Flamestrider.

“Sorry, sweetie. Big Sis needs to show some idiots what REAL creation looks like! Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you again real soon.”

Sandrone’s hands whirled, forming into odd tools that arced with energy. She grimaced.

“I’m going to need proper tools, for one thing. It’s…well. It’s not hygienic for me to use my hands like this! But just this once, I’ll show you!”

She knelt, ripping bits of metal and other materials from Diego’s poor bike and rapidly heating them. Her hands blurred and shifted, an intense look of concentration on Sandrone’s face.

Diego watched in utter fascination as she worked.

Even Mavuika had taken off her sunglasses. She stood a respectful distance away, clearly intrigued by what Sandrone was doing.

It took less than ten minutes.

Sandrone proudly held up a glowing spear. Energy crackled along the haft, and it was formed from a silvery metal that looked a bit like steel, but probably wasn’t, judging by the way it hummed and pulsed.

“There! One certified Sandrone Masterwork!” She gave the spear an affectionate pat.

“That bike felt more like it wanted to be a spear than a sword, and since I’m not an idiot, I listened to it! Seriously, it’s like all you people are deaf and dumb. Can’t even hear what your machines are telling you!”

Diego glanced at Mavuika, who gave him two thumbs-up and a wide grin.

“Well. I think we just solved our weapon problem. Come on, let’s get you back to the men and put you to work.”

“Hey! I never agreed to that!” Sandrone snarled.

She pointed at Kazuha. “You! You don’t like Archons either! You agree with me, right!? We say screw you to these losers, and then we leave.”

“I am not certain,” Kazuha said slowly. “I have heard that the Pyro Archon turned down a crown and instead insisted upon a democratic government, run by the people. Is this true?”

As the flames had died out in Mavuika’s hair, Diego opted to answer for her.

“Mavuika has said she will lead us in war against the Abyss. But she will not rule us. She insisted that our own leaders are better suited to that task. Hers is War, and her enemy is the Abyss.”

“I see.” Kazuha nodded.

He bowed formally to Mavuika again. “Then, for so long as you preserve democracy and the will of the people to rule themselves…I would be honored to forge blades in your name. At least for as long as the Wind allows my feet to rest here.”

“What?!” Sandrone squawked. “But, but you- you said you hated the Archons!”

“I have never said that,” Kazuha replied, shaking his head. “I said that I mourned the tyranny of a god who swept aside the right of my people to choose the paths they would tread, and imposed her own will and Eternity upon Japan.”

His expression softened. “I honor and respect the Raiden Shogun, for she has saved Japan thrice. But I cannot follow her.”

“Make sword! Good! Demo-cra-ty! Very good!” Mavuika said, giving another thumbs-up.

Then she turned both thumbs down. “Tyrant-kee! Bad! No good!”

“Did she hit her head or something when I wasn’t looking?” Sandrone demanded. “Or does her IQ drop whenever she turns off the glowy bits?”

“Ah, she is still learning Spanish,” Diego admitted. “She is doing rather well, for someone who just started two, no, three days ago.”

“What? Why? She can just light her hair on fire again and she’s fine. Or is she worried she’ll go bald? I can probably make her a wig, if she asks nicely,” Sandrone sniffed. 

“Ah! Angry Sandrone! You make weapons?” Mavuika patted the Flamestrider. “Spend time Flamestrider! Good! She like you! Tell me, you good Big Sis!”

Sandrone instantly blushed, then turned away in a futile attempt to hide it. “Why, you- you’re just flattering me! You can’t actually talk to her! I can’t even do that, I just…I make it up! It’s…it’s my advanced diagnostic ability, that I’m attempting to frame in terms your pathetic meat-brains can comprehend!”

Mavuika came over and rested a hand on Sandrone’s shoulder. She flinched, but bit her lip, looking up at the much taller Archon nervously. 

“No. Flamestrider? Soul,” Mavuika said, patting the bike affectionately. Then she gently poked a finger just above Sandrone’s left breast, right where her heart would be. “Sandrone, soul, too. Machine…have memory. Name. It have…ah…flame? Yes! Flame! You tell! Flame, soul! Especially machine! This, I know. Wisdom, long time!”

“You sound like someone’s racist idea of a native,” Sandrone complained, but she had eyes only for the Flamestrider. An obvious war raged within her, as Sandrone pressed her hands over her heart, a look of exquisite longing on her face.

 At last, she stomped her foot and fumed, “Oh, fine! Whatever! I was getting bored with road tripping and fixing some stupid peasant’s busted old tractor anyway! Plus, if I don’t take care of this poor dear, who will!? But you’d better give me proper tools, materials, and a workshop!”

“I have whatever we can scrounge in the back of an old RV that can be converted into a workshop,” Diego offered.

“You people are the worst holy crusade I have ever seen. Ugh, fine! Kazuha! Go get Tora-chan! We’ll go with these idiots and see what kind of disaster they’ve created for themselves.”

“Tora-chan?” Diego asked Kazuha as the grinning bladesmith turned back towards the town.

“My old Nissan Sentra,” Kazuha confided.

“HER NAME IS TORA-CHAN AND SHE IS MY BABY, NOT YOURS!” 

“Ah, yes. I will summon Tora-chan, and we will depart. Do you require anything else?” Kazuha called, grinning at Sandrone.

“...some more of that tea Abuela María made for me. She’s the only halfway intelligent person here. And tell her please and thank you! Don’t you dare be rude to that sweet old lady!” Sandrone shouted. 

Kazuha only nodded, and strolled back into the village, whistling happily to himself.

Sandrone, for her part, immediately went back to fussing over Flamestrider, cooing to the vehicle in what sounded like French to Diego as the former war-crime began to minister to Mavuika’s bike.

“Do things always go this well for you?” Diego asked Mavuika. 

The Archon grinned, and shrugged.

 “Nope!”