EVENTS:

Rosa feels a sense of purpose welling up inside her. There would be plenty of time to be human, later. Now, she has to swim.

Too preoccupied to look around, Eigla clutches desperately to the coral mass as her Sword’s calcareous cocoon begins to crack and splinter, revealing the nascent leviathan within. Whalelike fins unfurl against the wind, tendrils sprout from every surface, and a pervasive salty smell floods her nostrils as clam-like armor plates slide back to reveal powerful supercavitating waterjets.

Rosa manages to retain some sense of self throughout her baleful metamorphosis, at least enough to recognise the power and grace of her new form. She beats her flippers with peerless force, closing her eyes as she prepares for the waves to break against her forehead.




...Wait. There’s - no waves? Huh. This ocean feels awfully dry too. Where’s all the water? This is confusing. Her fins flap around uselessly in the airstream, and she makes no progress whatsoever in changing her course.


...What is she doing?
Trying to- ARE YOU TRYING TO SWIM
YOU’RE A FISH NOT A BIRD
MAINROSA NO THAT IS THE WORST PLAN WE’RE IN THE SKY
AAAAAAAA WHY THIS
WE’RE ALL GONNA DIE


Indeed, while the shapechanging was taking place, the all-consuming sphere’s gargantuan bulk has drawn the girls ever closer to its event horizon. Amid the panicked screams of a dozen echoes, they pass the unreturnable threshold, and are consumed forever.






...

This feels, strangely warm, for oblivion. Moist, too. Maybe it’s Hell? Though, Hell would probably be more fiery, instead of... You’re not sure how to describe it. Like a damp cave, under miles and miles of bedrock.

Feeling blindly as your face begins to form, you manage to clutch the hand of your partner. Thank goodness, they didn’t get lost. Who were they again? Rosa, Eigla? Both? One of those options, probably. They gripped your fingers back, and you shook hands with yourself.



With a start, the girls’ minds separate again, and they begin to cough and squirm on the fleshy floor, pulling themselves from one another and from the primordial mass that birthed them. The cavern is dark, but the walls phosphoresce in a dull amber glow, enough for a vague shape to be seen, standing a few yards away.


Male Voice: ”There you two are. At least it spat you out somewhere I could reach. Oh, there’s more of Rosa too? There you dozen are, I suppose.

Girl, you’re in a heap of trouble, you know?”


________________________________________________



As Malia playfully disassembles the mudman, cackling ever louder, Klimt mops up the few remaining enemies.

Sally looks the stiltwalker up and down, frowning and poking at the broken leg joints with her drills.

Sally: ”Maybe. Engine bay’s prolly fine, but it ain’t going nowhere fast with half a pegleg. Gimme a hook here, les’ slide this knee back into place-“

Her speech is interrupted by a loud bang, and you see a small black object flying above the battlefield at incredible speeds, leaving a dark smoke trail amid the mist. After a few seconds, a muffled explosion can be heard in the distance.


Sally: ”...The AP cannon? What in Davy Jones’ name is she doing, firing while we’re still out here? An’ why’d she waste the good ammo on unarmored mud kings?

...

Somethin’ smells rotten. Come on, help me tie this leg together.”

EVENTS:

???: "Still have your sense of humor, I see. Come on, let me help you up."

Eigla makes an effort to see better, wiping the layers of mucus and translucid skin covering her eyes, though her rigid, brittle fingers make the motion rather awkward. She sheds the outer layer of her face, just in time to see the figure approach and extend a hand towards Rosa.

It's... Pierre. At least, you think it is. The aged, sharp features and white beard are a dead giveaway, but there's something odd about his sillhouette and posture, as if something was pulling him towards the floor. He smiles grimly, or at least the side of his face that isn't covered in blood and giblets does.


_________________________________


As Malia walks around the group distributing first aid to the survivors, Klimt helps Sally try to get the stiltwalker operational. For several minutes they push and tug at the damaged steel limb, worriedly watching the sky for more projectiles. Three further shells fly above, disappearing in the mists before detonating, the muffled explosions echoing ominously across the mud flats.

Finally, the knee joint snaps back into place, and the war machine begins to slowly right itself. Klimt lets his aching tentacles uncoil, while Sally regards the horizon darkly.

Sally: "...T'was no misfire, they're still shootin'. Shiver me timbers, this ain't right.


Another explosion is heard, and one last oversized bullet whizzes across the battlefield, shaking the ground as it detonates. Except, this time, the echoes don't die down. A deep thud can be heard every second or two, and small waves form on the muddy puddles around the party. Malia feels her threads stand on end, in fear or anticipation.