Chapter Text
The night and city lights cast a beautiful painting of various colors. Mithi sits by the edge of a building's rooftop, her long hair swaying by the wind as she casts down her gaze upon an air of distortion mid-air, space shifting as a subtle refractal light sears the air.
Then, back to the moon, reaching out as if she could grasp the naked white blessed rock by her fingertips. This moment was a calm before the storm, a smooth balm to her conscious before she walked into literal danger.
This wasn't her first bout - nor was it her last. She'd accepted quickly enough that for her to repay that wish, she'd have to walk this path, for what felt like an eternity.
She owes her that much, at the very least.
Mithi stands as she smoothens her long skirt, hardening her expression. Another figure, limbs trailing shadows, stands by the Magical Girl's shadow. “Scared?” She asks, her voice husky, carrying enough sass to cut through any thick tension, as if she carried the sincerest belief that one can tackle anything, plastered onto her mannerisms and expression. “Quite alright. As long as you have yourself, you'll be fine.”
That's what Mithi told herself, if she could conserve herself, fight for herself, if she could continue to hold herself and drag herself forward. Whatever feelings she may experience now, as caliginous and agonizing as it may be, she'll be able to look back and tell herself that it was worth sullying it all for the next rise of the sun.
“Of course, that doesn't mean you should shut it all down because it's all pointless.” The voice interjects, waving off any possible irrational thoughts.
“Way to point the obvious.” Bottling the boiling heat until it explodes isn't healthy.
“I know.. but, hey, always have to be reminded of the basics.” Their tone shifts ever so slightly, softly, silvery. “Can't forget them. Tempting as it is.”
As easy as it is.
“I won't.”
The stitched figure moves to Mithi’s rear, arm resting by her shoulder, other hand tracing down her arm, her form disappearing just before they reach their fingers, having reached past the Magical Girl’s shadow.
Mithi takes a deep breath. “.. L..” The mental image of the stitched figure's smile lowers to something more understanding.
“It’s fine, you don’t have to fight everyday. It’s not everyday we can expend the energy to move forward, it's fine even if it's for long periods of time.” Her hand moves, curling with Mithi's, whose hand holds her chess piece, its fingertips touching the smooth edge of her gem by the top, glowing in response as it streams of phantom black swirl. “As long as we’re alive, we still have time.”
“Do we really have to prove our own existence? That whatever we are shouldn't be corrected because that's who we are and that's fine?”
“No, we shouldn't. We needn't have to in the first place.”
“.. To be born in a world free from shackles. Without judgement, to be free from the expectations and be oneself.. An ideal world. That'd be lovely.”
An abandoned building festering spirits, with cracked, aged painted walls and dusty, broken windows, the woman starts a slow step, hastens her pace, spreading her arms as she falls
“Big one isn't it? Looks like we'll be pushing ourselves real hard, cheers for a smooth one, jellyfish.”
“One can hope.”
Her hair and skirt dance by the wind as she glides and, like submerging in water, her breath stops for a minute, her arms flail as she adjusts to her new environment,The spirits ‘Labyrinth’. Rainbow-like distortions stain the red sky and white-yellow clouds. By her view, a vaguely humanoid malleable home-sized spirit walks by the road enchained by dark ropes yet it failed to hinder its movements, only stretching endlessly, with a few, smaller insect and cockroach-like beings permeating the air and crawling through the walls, a blue spirited dog makes haste, running from a large cockroach with four human eyes, and human limbs.
A ‘Labyrinth’, A ‘mask’, the mental landscape textured onto the world by the spirit responsible, altering reality for the creation of a pocket dimension separate from the normal world.
While they deal with assisting the deceased into ascending from the world of the living, they must also bear the responsibility of dealing with other beings threatening the balance of the dead, from rogue, impulsive spirits who terrorize other living and or dead things, creatures made from emotions, to even beings of folklore like the Wendigo, Capelabo or the Aswang.
Mithi shifts her stance, raising her hand to call for her staff, it lands just below her, hoisting herself for it to act like a witch's broom to make her landing, rolling onto the asphalt road as the staff pulverizes the four eyed cockroach, cards flying by the air as she transforms to familiar, Gothic Lolita style.
As Mithi pauses in one knee, the spirited dog behind her, the woman's open hand points to the ground, Miasma converging from her fingertips to a single point.
Remember that feeling, that bliss.
The Soul comprises four parts with the Physical Body being separate: The Heart, the Circuit, the Name, and the Shadow, or, Reflection.
Mithi's ability: “Remembrance.”
The creation of ‘phenomena’ to represent her sentimental value for the things she held dear, whether it be people, items, or events. Most commonly items are made, or sentimental objects are gifted abilities.
A personalized latent ability separate from regular magic, awakened by the ‘World’ from the ‘Heart’, where one's own technique is located, dormant unless brought forth through varying circumstances, empowered by the vessel's ‘Prana’, an energy source present in all living beings, manipulated through the metaphysical vessels present in the ‘Circuits’ in one's soul.
The feelings that warm the cold winter songs that sting.
She may call upon her memories.
When I’m with you all do I truly feel joy.
When I see them, do I hold them close.
and she mouths..
“Bear with me this burden, Mirasol.”
The small brown stuffed teddy bear forms from the black miasma, Laurentina's red eyes widen as the stuffed animal bursts mid-air and its larger arm shoots at her, the provocation missing as she ducks.
Its brown arms raise as Laurentina's forearms block in response, the former's body recoiling to one knee as the arm strikes.
Mirasol, a large, ragged roughly used teddy bear, two white button eyes, with the left loosely stitched, and its left ear chewed and a vertical zipper on the front. Most often used in close ranged combat, as it never was Mithi's forte, Mirasol was the familiar responsible for filling the gaps she made in close quarters combat, acting as a shield, its body perfectly made to absorb damage with the caveat of being weak against sharp weapons.
‘No damage. It's like fighting an indestructible doll.’
Despite Mirasol placing its weight and pressure to crush her, it's the one trembling in their struggle.
Mithi steps to her distance as Mirasol continues its box with Laurentina, its stuffed brown arms nimble for its large size, each of its jabs making sounds with the wind, each blow as disciplined and as efficient as a professional boxer, the white haired woman dodges each strike as she slowly adjusts, instinct guiding her mind, lost is the flavor she'd add to her movements. She attempts to counter, and the force only ripples, further attempts of reciprocation merely punishing the teddy bear of the force being absorbed.
Red eyes track its stuffed arms; her cheek purposely bruises, Laurentina turns her head to guide the force, a wide horizontal arced palm strike counter with the use of her momentum.
The bruises effect is short lived again, one, four, eight, fifteen, twenty-two blurs, both their limbs lose count of their exchange of reciprocated blows. Both failing to injure the other.
A missed knuckle-punch leaves Laurentina open and naturally punished, Penumbra fires, staggering with each shot, Mirasol disorienting with a follow-up strike. One, two, three, Laurentina is pressed by the wall, a fourth trigger attempts itself, and it meets air and the crack at the wall, dust spreading by her wake.
Those contracted with the ‘world’ sport a variety of people, from all ages, ethnicities, identities, ideals, even the era they bore such a responsibility — but there laid two distinct differences between them, if they were of the Ordinary (Non-Magicians) or already a Magician beforehand.
Regardless of status, their soul awakened the ingrained instinct to fight, the very basics stamped onto their bodies. Mithi turns her head, tracking the movement without even a thought as a raised vertical table slides with the sound of a cracking whip, one of its legs snapped in half. Mirasol swiftly breaks the table in half but leaves a blindspot as the table flies in two, that second was enough, as the distraction leaves the bears field of vision it finds Laurentina already charged, one hand forward, one hand reeled back as it grips the sharpened broken table leg aiming to pierce its torso.
And she does.
Before the Magician could react, her body was restrained with bare hands as she was grappled, slammed to the ground before she could process the action with a gasp, a web of cracks curse the floor followed by rubble sent to the air as Mithi catches her breath.
A closed palm raises, Laurentina’s red eyes feel as if they glow, the expression of a Hunter bearing its new trophy.
“Risotto!”
Mithi's hands gesture together for a shadow-puppet sign to resemble two wings and black miasma ooze from her fingertips, shielding her body, lightning crackles as it flickers throughout the entire room as a warning, whatever attempt to harm her was blocked as the miasma forms into a beak.
A loud boom reverberates by the walls as lightning strikes, the miasmas vengeance landing with a spine tingling purple twig-shaped light, Laurentina's body buzzing as she loses grip of the broken piece, feeling her nervous system briefly stun.
The beak fully forms into its full shape, a large crow, with chains by its legs and intricate marks and tattoo's by the inward part of her wings, the animal covers Laurentina's vision as her entire body crashes across the Laboratory, spinning by the air, smashing through the opening, recoiling to the hall's wall as she bounces.
“Nines.”
The crow slams with its side, breaking through the wall, retaliation proved fruitless as it returns into its black miasmic form and disappears. Yet the attacks remained relentless, a Werewolf cleaves with its claws then follows with its shoulder, its foot crushing the ground as it forces its entire weight to converge onto its shoulderblade.
If Mirasol was Mithi's shield, then Nines was her blade, unlike the stuffed animal, Nine's anthropomorphic form meant it could operate with Mithi's various weapons, trading defense with versatility and vastly better offensive capabilities.
Through its right hand, silver particles of light manifest and converge to morph into a a person sized greatsword with intricate insignia, ‘Eine Kleine’, its engine growls as the Werewolf sizes its opponent, three rectangular bars of level indication just above the guard, the motorcycle like grip of the weapon twisted as flames billow by the guard, coating the powerful steel with fuel, Laurentina smiles in glee, one of its bars lit.
This situation was less than ideal.
Her connection to the ‘world’ had blurred. The principles of magic were ‘simple’, through the manipulation of Magical Energy, they duel the will of the world to cast Magic, imparting their ambition, like making inputs to communicate with a server, thus becoming Magicians. But, what if she was far? What if the server was a whole other world, no, what felt like a universe away? the ‘signal’ had naturally dulled.
But, there was a Contingency, at the very least.
Frankly, it was horrible. And it flickers an irritation on her brow. What luck. But, she quickly shakes her head to take off the feeling, no use lingering on the feeling.
Magical Energy had two terms depending on if its inside, or outside a beings body, Prana and Magi specifically, the latter termed as such because Prana naturally exuded from every living thing, from Magicians - Magi, its largest excretion peaking at one's death, though they can increase its release through other means. Leylines, and creations of such, can amplify one's magic.
What Mithi was doing now, was using her Prana, and manipulating the natural release of Magi in the air as a medium, through time it would fill and thicken in the air of the area and their Output would stabilize. A half-measure that wouldn’t entirely fix the problem, as the body's local ‘server’ isn't as technical, widely reaching and or as powerful, but it was a temporary solution.
The Basement shakes through Nines and Laurentina’s battle, reverberating throughout the structure even as Mithi and Mirasol speed through the cracking halls. If only she wasn’t so far away, she’s confident she could contend with the Hunter, without being constantly on the backfoot.
“Gather me information.” Nines will hold, for however long that may last. Mirasol nods and rounds a different corner, the occasional shake and loud explosion scrunches Mithi's forehead. Talk about Luck fighting a war machine like Laurentina.
Nine lost grip of its weapon, the blade flying mid-air as Laurentina racing to snatch the blades handle, fingers just inches away, her fingertips meet—
Eine Kleine denies Laurentina's attempt, a burst of space and silver particles as her hand is blasted away. The weapon chooses its wielder. Claws crush against the handle as Nines reclaims its rightful blade.
Eine Kleine's basic purpose is that of overwhelming physical force with the use of its engine to ignite the fuel coated throughout the steel of the blade to propel the user,breaking through opponents in as few quick strokes as possible.
Nine’s arm shoots like a jet as two bars light to inform its level. Starfall. As the swing is made, it tears through the floor as Laurentina narrowly dodges, Nines quickly compensating by slashing a wide sweeping arc through the floor, using the dirt, rubble to block out her vision, its rev is timed as one bar is lit. Stars. Fire dances as it trails before the blade, each trigger shooting the blade forward as fuel is lit.
Nines switches between using its own claws and the weapon it bares, carving through equipment, furniture, and obstacles sent its way as Laurentina leverages the overwhelming force that forces the Werewolf forward, claws gripping tight at the handle as it wrestles control of the blades momentum.
The two duel in a dance-like rhythm, Nine catching the Abyssal Hunter in a barely-there deadlock by the tips of its blade, the latter swerving, stepping, ducking through each barrage of strikes from the fiery blade, her clothes seared, skin cut and strands of hair severed from every avoidance too slow, a few jagged lines bleed and trail through her shoulder, through every successful dodge she jabs back and forth with her bare fists, Nines barking in response while increasing its fury.
She was forced to make a change to a ‘on the fly plan’ considering the unknown Monster of a variable that was Laurentina.
The plan is simple, survive, not win. Stabilizing her mind through prolonged contact with the Lantern is a priority, even if it means taking a beating.
As a Guardian, she is particularly durable, capable of enduring considerably more fatal wounds compared to a Human Magician. If nothing more, they're pin cushions regarding violence considering their grit.
They are all-persevering ‘wardens’ after all. And her kit is very, very good at being an annoying fly that refuses to die.
Mithi easily backhands a tentacle sent her way, her hand twirling as black miasma surges forth into a white pistol, Umbra's slide cocks back as flowers bloom at its intended target, the one Cultist with assimilation-like qualities.
She guessed that their rank and importance depended on how ‘inhuman’ they've begun to look.
His body falls to the floor as they're incapacitated, Mithi moving forward as she continues her gunfire for show, each blooming shot darker than the last, the body recoiling with each shot as limbs flail. Incapacitate. She repeats, she'll simply scare the others, they're not fighters, no, anyone valuable must have fled after Laurentina was freed, all left are strays, victims.
It wasn’t hard chasing them off, while they were devoted, they valued their own lives, and it'd leave more than just a sour taste in her mouth if she was forced to end their lives.
“I'll pry information from the man.” She reasons, the church around her surrounded by broken pews, chipped pillars and broken Stained Glass windows. “Ah, how am I gonna do that?” Her expression entered a wary smile, she dealt with spirits, comforted the dead, forcing information out of targets of interests, weren't her forte Guardian, nor would she be interested.
It's better if she forces the Church out of Primavera as quickly as possible, they're stains on this land. Then help comfort the dead, the quality of life had already borne fruit with Esteban's words and meals, the atmosphere not feeling like she's banging her head on a wall with the fervent amount of lingering visceral emotion lessening considerably. She'd like to leave with the land actually being hospitable for the people.
She can have Laurentina deal with the Man, sensing the vague emotion of who she is underneath, she'd.. negotiate well. If the woman doesn't just outright kill the man.
If there's one major worry, other than the politics surrounding Primavera, it's how the land (specifically just Primavera) will empower the spirit that came with her into this world, the dead deserve to rest, yet this ‘Great Silence’ bore a grand tragedy that ended the ‘Golden Age.’ Those feelings of despair linger, and together with the persistent feeling of rot it would—
It's obviously worrying what'll become of it, when it does. After this she'll have to create leylines, she can't just ignore a ticking time bomb.
She's already helped a good portion of Primavera rest, when she's in better condition, when she can truly and well fight, she'll hunt it down.
If she makes it out alive. She will. Making alliances with Laurentina, even if temporary, will help. She'll need all the strength she can muster.
“Everyone is out.” “of range.” Her staff with enough sentience to move on its own, applied temporary sigils and markings around the Church for preparations in the creation of a ‘makeshift labyrinth.’ a strategy to box Laurentina into somewhere they can fight without causing a ruckus.
It had the same benefits, or curse as a real Labyrinth, time progressed either very slowly, or not at all. Instead of using the spirit's mental landscape as the base, it was a replica of the surrounding area with a subtle pressure and light blue hue. All damage done inside here doesn't follow onto the normal world as this is a replica, thus any events that transpired ceased to consequence, but this came with the fact that any Magi released inside aside from the ones present before the casting was lost.
A dome glass-like barrier slowly encompasses the entire area, and as it fully closes, the subtle blue hue lights the area, locking anyone in range outside the normal world.
Not all spirits had the ability to hide themselves in Labyrinths, either too weak, or, sometimes too strong, while the former wasn't of trouble due to a single strike usually exorcising them, stronger spirits.. were of greater trouble. As maintaining the secrecy of the Magical World is of importance, leaving Magical Duels in a sub-space separate from the normal world was necessary.
The crux of Magic was simple, the measure of a Magician was of ‘how hard they could grasp the very world to their fingertips’, as vague and open it sounds. And one part of it, was the creation of barriers, like imparting structures onto the world like buildings or homes, it followed the same gist but it was more so altering reality itself, modifying a world's ‘texture.’
..
“That's.. trouble.” With Laurentina's speed, she moved like a Ghost, with unmatched physical prowess, the only warning of her presence was the subtle displacement of the air. Tracking her movements were trouble if it were not the use of other means.
“Behind you.” The voice mentally points, an extra pair of watchful eyes that blessed no blindspots.
She turns her head, eyes squinting as Laurentina, with her ragged, charred cloth, fingers tightly locked against the Cultist's throat, the tentacles seeping through the hem of its cloak draped lifelessly, the lifeless corpse dragged with obvious ire. It's.. fine, she still has Mirasol with information. Nines is down, but as long as she's alive, he'll recover. Two minutes? She estimates.
Reaching out her hand, Mirasol comes from the Miasma once more, de-summoned and summoned to her location, its zipper is opened, the lavender lantern pulled out, its flame dancing around its confines. A near-interceptible mumble rumbles through Laurentina’s chest, showing its effects.
For all the unknown variables, she doesn’t find herself too.. scared, no. This felt natural, a rhythm she's all too aware of. Putting up a brave-face to hide her anxieties, and reassure herself, this was the inevitable consequence of charting this path in pursuit of her dream.
Her lips may clammer, and her legs may tense. But when all is said and done, when this life reaches its conclusion, she'll find joy in her reincarnation.
“I owe her that, at least.”
With the blurry signal to the world, her other abilities were currently too volatile, locked, now she was limited to as if she was new to her abilities; the better, more powerful half of her kit was too hazy to use.
Mithi's ironsight locks down on the Abyssal Hunter circling her form, slowly, intently, their scarlet red scrutinizing her form , Laurentina's eyes glaze, head turns and her body blades, the air is displaced.
A half-broken pew is hurled.
A staff descends, silver in color, with a white four circle outline that connects with a yellow star inside, two wings protrude back of the stars side and a protrusion like a cane hangs with a curl on the other, stickers, signatures and various emblems are stuck by the staff, it was personalized heavily, keychains, pins, the latter somehow placed, it looked like an expensive cosplay prop. It breaks through the Church’s rooftop, hurling like a missile as it splits the furniture in two, the hunter easily stepping aside and darting to her target, hand shot backwards, fingers pointed.
Shots are fired as Mithi's fingers hug the staff strewn on the floor, easily freeing the weapon from its confines, a casted barrier blocks the strike, and swiftly moves to her Laurentina's flank.
Laurentina easily offs the staff shot at her, grabbing the weapon as uses the lantern to block a gunshot, attempting a thrust before the weapon pushes itself away.
Though it was subtle, Mithi could feel it, see it, Laurentina also shared the sentiment of fighting in ill-disposed circumstances, from the dry skin to rigid, unfitting movements as if the air in his land, excluding Magi, were holding her back, as if this wasn't her place, on what should've been a calm river stream were a jagged, chaotic river flow.
“Ha.. just what kind of Monster did I stumble into?” Unfortunately, her answer is given, cursed by a particularly powerful strike, bequeathed by the church as her body rolls and stumbles against rolling stones and earth. Her torso twists into an unnatural angle, her left arm bent to a L shape.
.. This is why she has Mirasol take blows for her. Especially with opponents who far eclipse her current state. She smashes into a tree head-first, and her skull forcefully dents an arched curve on her scalp and she sags.
The gem on her collar glows and she rasps out a breath.
Through entering the Contract with the ‘World’, their bodies are replaced with identical copies made of Magic, their souls compacted into an item, for Mithi’s case, her ‘soul’ gem, foregoing vulnerabilities to fatal injuries, diseases and or body fatigue. They were Magicians made for the eternal maintenance of the living world.
With a handsign Risotto saves its Caster from getting her skull caved in by Laurentina's lunge, her body forming itself back to normal like clay being molded, then her hand submerges into the staff's star.
Mithi had two items that stored her belongings, from items manifested by Remembrance, or unrelated. Both being infinite storage devices sharing the same inventory, the two responsible being her staff’s star, and Mirasol's zipper.
“So we may one day find solace, Cielo.”
By the pommel of the Katana, an orange cat keycharm jingles to indicate its manifestation, Mithi’s hands grip on both the handle and the lacquer sheathe, weapon forming from black miasma, her stance forming before bringing the weapon into existence.
Cielo: a Katana with an orange cat keycharm by the pommel, if Eine Kleine specializes in overwhelming offense, Cielo was to be an impenetrable wall, because if there is one thing Mithi loved. It was stalling in RPGs, stacking defense through Mirasol.
Migi gedan no kamae. The gleaming steel tip lowers to the opponent's knee, right foot forward, right knee covered. As the stance is finished, a white ethereal glowing outline circles the swordswoman, before being completely filled with the same glimmer.
Tenchi-kaibyaku. The most primitive of barrier manipulation, a blank template, named after the Japanese creation myth of the birth of the celestial and living world, Magic made during the Nara period of Japan, and Higher Magicians soon did do the same, its sure purpose to serve as a template on encroaching upon the Earth with humanity’s will.
Tenchi-Kaibyaku was the sorcery imbued into the weapons blade, the blanks variation increasing the output of the augmentation of the body, most of the boost falling on defense by a significant margin, lowering offense, while increasing air friction and density inside range for intended targets.
Swords were a great equalizer in regards to fighting stronger opponents, while her form was a fickle thing as her hands shook as the ground splintered with every forceful fist that her blade blocked and parried, yet it gave openings for Mirasol to counter-attack.
Risotto followed with lightning strikes, whether it descended from the sky, circled around the area, or shot like bolts as he flew behind its Caster, each cursed bolt forced Laurentina to weave and dodge, every strike lingering the area with static that entrapped and struck an opponent's nervous system to force a monetary tick of stun, severely limiting the Hunter’s options, boxing her in for unfavorable positions as the lantern-staff trailed behind Mithi.
With every block its Wielder stepped back to maintain her distance, recovering poise, sweat trailing down her forehead. Risotto’s wings curl inwards as he screeches, a bright flashing light disorienting its opponent, but it was only momentary.
Yet.
It's still a Katana, and not just for every weapon, but also every battle, it all stood on..
Footwork.
Laurentina slams the ground with both her bare fists clasped together, sending the earth into a webbed crater, cracks form as chunks of debris fly, and Mithi grits her teeth as her form wobbles. The wind shakes as the Red Eyed Hunter bounces through every chunk, building up momentum, eyes leaving red trails of death through her speed, the white circle surrounding Mithi's form cracks, her feet stumble, eyes struggling to keep track of the woman.
She's forced to sheathe her weapon, narrowly dodging by a hair strand before she could be grabbed and dug into a crater. The sonic-boom sends Mithi away as a cloud of smoke covers the impact, staff saving her as it snatches her to dart backwards..
A tree?
A tree is flung from the smoke, crashing into Mithi as it spun like a thrown hatchet, crashing onto her Risotto could attempt a save, or without time for the staff to defend. Stained glass shatters by the front of the apse, its shards prickle at Mithi's skin, jagged edges stabbing onto her limbs and tearing parts of her clothes, narrowly dodging the alter as she bounces from the ambo, rolling onto the crossing as her flattened spine bends at an unnatural angle.
“Ugh..” A groan leaves the Magician's mouth, for her anatomy, or lack there of, those shards were nothing but pricks of inconvenience. Mithi stumbles to her feet, body molding to correction as she looks upwards as eyes bore witness to the Hunters silhouette masking the moon, her hair flowing by the wind as red eyes stare her down.
Lost limbs, a severed body, crushed skull, it all didn't matter as long as that ‘soul’ gem remained intact.
A resounding thud as the ground shook with Laurentina’s landing, shoulders squared as the wooden floorboards of the sanctuary cracked and split.
Laurentina’s form lowers and her form blurs as dust billows from her speed. The familiar ding ding as the twin handgun fires, the smeared silhouette using broken pews as cover as she circles, each of her resounding steps like clicks of impending death.
“Fire.IShallFire.” As Laurentina attempts to bolt to her opponent by shouldering a pew forward, shadows dim her face as the muzzle flash for Umbras roses amplify, brighter, larger, all until it coalesces into half her size.
Four consecutive shots. One to break through the pew, Penumbra's roses dim to avoid mental damage. Three to crash against Laurentina's body, tearing through her charred gown and staggering back.
Mirasol can return here in twelve seconds, the staff in five. De-summoning her to return will leave me open.
“One.”
Her heels quickly recover and turn, bouncing against a pillar to dodge a shot, shattering marble with the wind scattering as she's launched like a bolt. The dive bomb is narrowly dodged, and a card touches on the hunters abdomen,
Laurentina's appearance glows as she's clad with new fine cloth, a white dress.
“Endure. Cie-” The Magical Girl's attempt at unsheathing Cielo causes her hand to be swat away, her wrist crushed as she's pulled inwards. A punch connects against her navel, bulging her back as she's catapulted into severing a pillar, the marble construct falling against her body.
“Five.”
The staff in its urgency breaks through a stained glass window by the Clerestory, shooting beams of Magi like machine gun fire as Mithi’s bent hand cracks through the rubble to grip, dragging herself sideways, shadow and light from the moon transition by her form, stitches fly from her skin as she's reformed.
“Eight.”
Laurentina's superior speed closes the gap and Mithi takes a bruise by her shoulder, knocking her momentum.
Through every bout the staff making wide arcs in a desperate attempt to defend, as Mithi enters a shadow, a reflection of herself could be seen, one sewn with stitches, worn are a differing set of clothes, white robes, two pairs of arms were attached to its body, its upper pair used to cover her eyes, the lower used like usual limbs, bandages were strewn by both its arms its tailend trailing through every movement, the oversized witch’s hat and whip-like tail doing the same. Like a ‘reflection’ it perfectly mirrors Mithi’s movements, though considerably graceful, more aware, smiling with adrenaline pumping through their veins.
As she’s forced to take numerous more blows, stitches are born to sew her deforming body as it's remolded, wood splinters as Laurentina blurs to Mithi’s rear. The ground splits as Laurentina charges a strike to destroy her targets spine, yet as Mithi attempts a turn to follow, the ‘reflection’ is already staring back, preparing and she-
“Ten.”
Parries without having to make a full turn, without needing a thought. Flowers bloom and fly by Laurentina's face as she's shot as an immediate response. Mithi's becoming faster. The Magi in the air thickens as her artificial body is pushed to its limit.
“Eleven.”
Through the erected barrier the Magi already built up would condense, and with the imitation Labyrinths scope only being a limited area, Magi released during the duration of the barrier could be denser, thicker, build-up at a much considerably faster rate.
A temporary major stabilization and boost in output.
While she can continue to take punishment, she can't just endlessly take blows, it takes Prana to reform.
Mithi parries another blow. Then, Magi spikes. The Magi in the air becomes heavier and heavier, like an unseen pressure that would force any weaker being onto their knees, or collapse entirely. Mithi’s Magi bursts forward sending the Hunter a few steps back.
“Twelve.”
Dust and Magi shape to slowly cover Mithi as her silhouette glimmers, clothes flowing by the magi of the air as the wind howled, her back arches a subtle forward, legs spread, staff pointed forward as her arm straightened so, hand bracing her right arm to channel the pressure of the air.
“Open your heart.. L-” Then, the energy withdraws.
Her opponent retreats a few more strides. Their red eyes finally regain their clarity, though it's.. fragile.
Laurentina's eyes flicker, waiting for the last burst, the signal for her body to be used for its purpose, combat.
The Magical Girl sighs, her shoulders slacking as she straightens her back, lowering her pointed staff. Mirasol had already stopped its breach before it could announce its entrance to avoid startling Laurentina.
“Haha!.. quite the impression.” Laurentina flashes her shark teeth, a look of smug betterment on her face as she raises her arms, fingers twitching in anticipation. “Relax now. I'm not here to hurt you, for as much as I can control atleast.”
In her crimson eyes, there looked of crimson glinting interest as she sized the person before her. “Is this what Land Dwellers called their ‘arts’?”
Mithi could only nod as her form finally losing all its rigidity. Yet, her mind bore a heavy weight.
Oh, talk about her luck. There's two. “I'm way lovelier though.” The shadow, Laurentina, interjected, placing an arm by Mithi's shoulder as she rested her chin, pointing a finger.