When Eilert simply vanished under the cover of a flash of color, just before the boulders collided with his body, it was reasonable for the gray skinned young man to be surprised. It wasn't something he could have guessed, either; he hadn't seen any instances of teleportation from this group as of yet, and this went down as the very first one. As such, he was vulnerable immediately thereafter, leaving his back exposed to Eilert, who had come to form behind him. This had "terrible mistake" written all over it.

He had himself exposed and temporarily vulnerable; all Eilert had to do was get a hand on him, and it would be all over. One fight cut short, one quick victory, permitting him to move onto bigger problems.

If only he could get that hand on him.

As soon as Eilert was close enough, he'd feel a sudden wave, a wave like a brick wall, slamming against his hand, carrying with it enough force to knock him back, if not to the ground. It even prompted his enemy to quickly spin around, facing Eilert once again. As he spun, he swung his arm out; it was stationary only after he had completed his turn. Along with being pushed back, Eilert would feel pain across his stomach and chest, as it would feel like a superficial wound cut through his skin, instigating blood loss and pain--if his enemy was successful, that is. The gray skinned youth could do more than just lift and push with his mind . . .

Already committed to his forward moment, Eilert could do little but slam into the psychic wall and be pushed back and off of his feet. Before he could recover or even begin to realize what happened, a sharp pain suddenly stung his chest.

He felt himself bleeding. That had been...a telekinetic slash of some kind, he concluded. That hurt, but he was more worried about the fact that the horned man had somehow known he was behind him. A sneak attack would be impossible then, and that made the fight much more difficult.

Unfortunately, he couldn't count on backup arriving. As far as he could tell all the other Enigmas were fighting the shades, save for Icsorue who was helping those who could no longer fight escape.

As he climbed to his feet once more, he palmed a rock and stuck it in the pocket of his cloak, imprinting a glyph on it as he did so. He charged his opponent, fully expecting to be knocked off his feet by another telekinetic attack--and when he was struck, he'd allow the rock to tumble at the man's feet...

Of course, if for some reason the man didn't attack him, he'd just strike with his fists as he'd first tried.

Telekinesis had an added convenience, at least when one was relatively powerful with it. In so much, a sixth sense was born from the mind, not linked to any part of the body other than the central nervous system. He had perfect sensation around six feet of his body; an area in which he could feel intrusions and motions, from the changing of a wind current to the aggressive step of an enemy. It was just one thing that made him that much more dangerous; he could predict and react to actions within that area with brutal efficiency.

And while he was staring his enemy down, he was even more effective. He wasn't just going to throw Eilert this time. There was no sense using the same trick over and over again; if he had the same attack, and Eilert somehow managed to get around them--which the young man wasn't disregarding as a possibility--he'd find a pattern in his attacks which he could easily take advantage of.

So, as soon as Eilert neared, he'd find himself stopped--not pushed back, not thrown away, not cut. Just stopped dead in his tracks, and with the force of his run and momentum stopped so suddenly, the stone in his pocket quickly fell out and struck the ground below Eilert's opponent. He hadn't noticed it, though--and all Eilert would have to do would be activate the glyph of eruption.

But . . . there might have been a difficulty.

Rather than throwing him back, slicing him, or striking him with an object, the horned youth would lift his hand quickly, and exert pressure upon Eilert's throat, enough to lift him up . . . and squeeze, to boot. He'd feel the air sucked out of his body as it would feel like a hand had wrapped about his neck, squeezing and constricting about his airways until breathing quickly became a physical impossibility. Had he not wanted to put an end to this fighter quickly, before he'd have other problems to deal with, he'd have used his other hand to "loosen" joints, like his shoulders and knees, with strong mental tugs and pulls.

"Go to hell," he growled as he squeezed his hand tighter.

Eilert was startled by his sudden stop in movement--this was yet another application of telekinesis that he hadn't expected. Fortunately, he still managed to get the rock underneath the horned man, so all that was left was to--

"Urk--!" His hands immediately shot to his throat in an attempt to grasp whatever was strangling him, but naturally they couldn't touch the invisible force. Legs flailing as he was lifted off of the ground, he realized he only had one chance: activate his glyph on the rock.

A brief orange glow on the rock was the only warning before it detonated violently from the glyph that was practically wrapped all the way around it, sending shards of rock in all directions.

He needed it to at least distract him enough to drop him, so he could hopefully finish his charge and hit him with his banishment glyph. If it didn't, he'd likely taken his last breath.

Eilert's enemy hadn't seen that one coming, either. He had thought nothing of the stone that fell by his feet. It was in his personal space, that area that he could monitor so long as he was awake, but it was nothing more than a rock to him; the same thing as the boulders around them, all that comprised the mountain, and so long as he wasn't standing under it and thousands of tons of the same, he didn't see it as a threat. Of course, he hadn't witnessed Eilert's previous use of a stone as a weapon. It had to be a large stone, though; something that could fill a hand when held. To the horned youth, it was only dangerous if thrown at the skull.

And he was extremely wrong. The stone exploded at his feet, and had a stronger effect than Eilert had expected. That stone was larger than the last, and the eruption was thereby stronger. Dust and smoke erupted from it as it sounded like a bomb went off, and Eilert, who had been lifted from the ground, would find himself falling back to its confines.

Not only had the horned youth's concentration been thrown off, but he, himself, had been thrown off his feet--and by several feet, at that. It was a fraction of a second after Eilert landed that he landed upon his back with a cry of pain, a lag behind his arms and legs, which hit the ground only after his spine. He didn't appear too injured from the explosion, and most likely took the brunt of the attack through an undefined force, but the hit to his back couldn't be ignored or put off . . .

Eilert was left with the perfect opportunity to finish the battle. He could charge ahead, and while his opponent was down, he could touch him anywhere--foot, finger, chest, face, and a glyph of banishment would have the man taken care of, presumably for some time.

And he was close, too. Eilert, who charged for his downed opponent, was so close-- and then, a click. A click so loud it was audible throughout the sound of battle and shades screeching that it commanded audience--commanded Eilert to stop in his tracks. It was completely optional, of course, but he, of all people, would recognize the sound. The hammer of a firearm cocked back--behind him, right at the ledge.

"Stand down, Eilert."

And the voice of one whom he spoke with more than any other within the organization . . .

The psychic grip on his throat gone, Eilert crashed back to the ground, slumping to his knees and gasping for air. This was his chance, though...he had no time to catch his breath. He willed himself to stand, so he could get to the horned man before he recovered and finish this fight.

But as he regained his footing, he heard an audible click. Even though he knew little of modern technology, he still recognized it. A gun was being cocked, and if he had any doubts as to who it was pointed at the voice her heard next erased them.

Though the rest of his face remained as neutral as always, his eyes widened noticeably. Slowly, he turned to face him, mixed feelings welling up inside of him. He was the only man he'd had any sort of familiarity with--the only one who he talked to on any basis, regular or otherwise.

He also a man who betrayed them.

"So...this is your doing, Sturm?" His voice was flat, as though it was less of a question and more of a statement. A man like him didn't betray his superiors only to take orders from someone else.

The purple enigma, the Prime Director that betrayed the Guardians: Sturm. He stood with his flintlock pistol held out with his right hand, eight feet between he and Eilert. He looked worse than he ever had; the dark circles under his eyes were permanent, and looked more like makeup anymore. His state of sleep deprivation reached surreal long ago. The man was only in his mid thirties, and yet . . . he looked like he was in his forties; haggard, worn out, and tired. His hair and beard were scruffy, and his operative coat with violet lining was torn and tattered, completely lacking sleeves and a hood any longer, but still capable of being zipped up nonetheless.

The gray skinned young man wasn't the only one downed, though. Each operative other than Eilert was held to the ground, pinned once more by shades. They had overcome so many of them, but the numbers simply replenished, and time and time again, they had exhausted themselves of everything they had--only to finally fall, one by one, believing that death was inevitable, and yet not unnecessary claw struck them. When they were pinned, they were pinned. Stronger shades simply held them to the ground, fully restrained.

"Master--nhh, I'm sorry," the horned youth groaned as he sat up.

Sturm shook his head--not addressing Eilert, but the downed man behind him. "It is fine, Sanguine."

It hadn't taken long for the other enigmas to notice the new arrival. Most of them were new, though; operatives who hadn't been in the organization long enough to know who Tyrian Sturm even was--and those that did know him only knew of him. They'd perhaps seen his face once or twice, but those like the green enigma were unaware that they filled the gap left behind after the loss of Sturm and his primary squad--Desmon, Emitt, Davon, and Exitus. Yellow, brown, green, and blue--the four veteran operatives who took orders directly from Sturm himself, and had contact with him more than any other member in the organization. All four of them had been replaced, and the fourth replacement was missing.

But there was one that had been around long enough to know Sturm; his name, his face, and what he had done. The beige enigma, a somewhat dark skinned young woman with short brown hair and dark eyes--possibly Xexorian in descent, knew exactly who the man was, and what crimes he had committed against their organization, one that stood for the good of the world . . .

"You . . ." she mouthed, "You . . . you're the one . . . you're the one who killed Emitt!"

Sturm paid the woman only a passing glance. Eilert had his attention more than the others; he only looked them over to check over their status--if they were heavily wounded and if they were secure. Low and behold, each of them was down; contained, but not hurt too badly.

"It wasn't supposed to turn out this way," Sturm remarked, his voice too tired to contain passion or emotion, but gruff and deep all the same. "But circumstances would not allow otherwise; I'm only doing what has to be done."

It was an odd situation. His comrades were all down again, held in place by shades, but he wasn't being attacked. Was it some kind of courtesy, or did he simply think having shades approach him was futile?

Or maybe he just wanted to finish him off himself.

All hope wasn't lost, though--Eilert didn't see Icsorue anywhere, which meant she was safe, probably in the middle of getting some of the others to safety. It would mean little, though, if Sturm had his way.

Still, why wasn't he having the shades finish them off? Something was off about that--he simply couldn't think of a reason for it.

"So, what is it you're trying to do?"

He was in a very dicey situation. He wasn't even certain he could take Sturm on by himself--he didn't know what the man could do. Even with the area trapped as it was, he'd be overwhelmed if they all came after him. Still, he had to do something, he was the only one still standing...and unfortunately, he didn't know how Icsorue would react upon seeing Sturm again, so waiting for her to return wasn't a terrific idea either.

And...he didn't want to fight him if he could avoid it. Sturm was the closest thing he'd had to a friend in the organization.

"What I'm trying to do . . ." Sturm shook his head, "What I'm doing. I'm . . ."

He lowered his gun. His aim was no longer trained on Eilert--not that it would have been much, anyways. Had he shot the orange enigma, the chances of the wound being fatal were minimal. Even a pistol so small felt like it weight a hundred pounds. Climbing the mountain had taken a majority of what little strength he seemed to have left. It was a wonder that he hadn't fallen to Eilert's feet--a pure show of will. He didn't let his body quit, though his brain sabotaged every limb with chemicals demanding muscular and organ shut down.

Sturm's response was simple, yet heavy--a spoken burden; words anchored by the weight of the world. ". . . saving the world."

As Sanguine pulled himself to his feet, Sturm walked, passing Eilert by without a thought. His steps were slow and calculated, his pace unsteady. This was a man that Eilert would not be fighting--a man who could not stand up in a fight with him. At least, not as he seemed. He was known for having backup plans, though; items on hand that could temporarily improve performance in battle.

Sanguine stood close to Sturm, looking up to him with concern. It was an unvoiced inquiry, a simple gaze with a concerned expression, and all it took was Sturm's nod to somewhat reassure the shade-man. He paused for a moment, surveying the situation. The others were snagged, and Eilert wasn't a threat--or, at least, he didn't seem like a threat. Not just yet.

"Sanguine, keep them restrained," Sturm ordered.

"Yes, Master."

The doctor of biology and herbal medicine then amended, "And administer medication if needed. Only one man needs to die today."

Just what is going on here?

It didn't make any sense. This army, at Sturm's command it seemed, attacked them. Sturm, who betrayed the organization and killed his four lieutenants. And now not only was he not killing them, he was trying to save their lives?

"Who needs to die? Why are you having them hold back?" He had many questions, like how Sturm was controlling creatures he thought of as uncontrollable, but those were the most important ones.

And one more. "...And what do you mean, saving the world?"

He was visibly uncertain--he wasn't used to making decisions, just following orders. What he'd been doing up to now was still following order, though he had to decide just how to follow them.

"All roight! WHO DOIES FIRST?!"

Icsorue was outside immediately following her announcement, sliding out from a caved in hole, skidding to a stop, and standing immediately. She had powers all prepared, too: flames sparking in the air around her, lightning dancing about each airborne ember, and knives of ice between her fingers. She was ready for war, prepared to unleash on shades and shade-men alike with enough force to topple any number of them. The pink enigma, easily considered the most volatile and powerful of them all, but unreliable--not like the Azure usually was. Here, she was more than reliable; she was a weapon of mass destruction.

But her immediate observation betrayed her expectations. The strawberry blond expected there to still be fighting--Eilert struggling against Sanguine and the others batting shades away with no end in sight. She had rushed to get the wounded out and to Greoul so she could rejoin, fearing that without her help, they might all be lost in this kind of conflict, and yet . . . the fighting had stopped. Icsorue would have simply unleashed on those shades to release her compatriots, but something kept her from doing it.

And soon, that something had her full attention.

"Doctor . . . Tyr . . .?"

The flames flickered and the static died. Sturm . . . it was Sturm! He was back, standing before her, between her and Eilert--standing strong and alive, back at the Sky Temple once again! Her fingers shook. It was him--it had to be him. In the last six months, it looked like he had gone through hell and aged fifteen years, but she could never forget his face--beard or no beard. He was always that "dorky scientist" to her, no better than Eilert!

"You're . . . you're really here . . ." Icsorue chimed, her voice growing higher pitched with excitement, "You're . . . you're really here! And--and you're really here to help up! I . . . I knew . . . I always knew you would . . .!"

That was her immediate conclusion, and she raced towards him as soon as she came up with it. Icsorue wanted to throw her arms around him and hold onto him as if her entire world depended on it. She missed him so much . . . it was hellish. She had to investigate him, she had to be the one that looked into what he did after he left them, to try and prove a case that he really had betrayed them. Icsorue was ordered to, and for emotional reasons, couldn't complete the investigation. And now, he was back--he hadn't betrayed them . . . it was all the work of someone else, she knew it . . .

What stopped her from embracing him tightly in the middle of a battlefield wasn't the urgency of fighting, but the very fact that the horned youth stood by Sturm's side. Icsorue felt like her heart stopped beating. All these shades had the others pinned, and the only people standing were Sturm, Sanguine, Eilert, and the other shade, seemingly protected from harm. Icsorue stood just feet from Sturm, her entire body shaking. What was this . . .?

"D-doctor Tyr . . .?" Icsorue's voice was shaky, hesitant--questioning.

But there was no response. Sturm stared at her, unable to say anything at all--he opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. Instead, he watched her expressions, and remembered the frizzy haired girl for the thousandth time. One other person he couldn't bear to restrain.

"Icsorue!"

Had he still been fighting, the Pink Enigma's arrival would have likely heralded a turn in the tide of combat in their favor. However at present her arrival just added more confusion to what was going on.

It was an odd sensation--at the time he'd been informed of it, Eilert hadn't thought much of Sturm leaving the organization. He'd been too isolated in his own world, too numb to what went around him.

Now, though, he fully felt the sting of his betrayal, especially with Icsorue present--a girl Tyrian had practically raised.

For some reason, his failure to answer her struck Eilert as vaguely insulting. "Won't you tell her, Sturm? That it is you commanding the army besieging us?" Even though his expression remained blank, there was a bit of hurt in his eyes.

Icsorue was immediately shocked. It was something she didn't want to admit that she was even considering the possibility. Of course it was a possibility--of course she thought of it; she was a tracker, an investigator. All kinds of possibilities were running through her mind at once, but this was Sturm. Sturm, the first one to leave her, and the one that hit her the hardest. She didn't want to even consider the possibility that he was the one they were fighting . . . that he was the one they were fighting all along, even before today . . .

"N-no, no . . . don't . . . DON'T LIE LOIKE THAT, EILERT!" Icsorue screamed, calming down immediately thereafter--though, he voice became shaky, as if she wasn't even believing the words she was saying anymore. "This isn't . . . this isn't the toime to joke. Roight, Dr. Tyr? He's just troying to be funny, roight? And--and--and he's not being serious, and . . . and he's just a shitty comedian, roight?! You're . . . not . . . you're not, roight . . .?"

"Icsorue . . ." Sturm trailed off.

"Tell me! Please!" she cried, her arms by her sides and body perked up, ready to just jump up at him for attention or cling to his chest and shake some fucking answers from him! "Tell me he's loying--tell me he's just joking, a-and . . oI'll believe you! oI'll believe you because . . . because . . . you'd never hurt us loike this . . ."

Even if he lied--even if he lied and she knew he was lying, she'd put aside all common sense that decreed that he was filling her mind with fantasy, she'd willingly live in that fantasy, and be perfectly content letting him lie to her, and her lying to herself. And Sturm knew that--and that was why he couldn't lie to her. That was a moral decision he couldn't bring himself to make, and negatively affirmed his willingness to even do something so little to her that would toy with her mind. Because Icsorue was the same as the gold enigma to him--invaluable in their own rights, with Sturm unable to find life enjoyable without them in it. He couldn't tell her, though, not because he didn't want to, but because a vocal noise interrupted him before he could.

"Eilert--Eilert, are you there?" It was Silver's voice--reacting only with Eilert's personal communication glyph, though he'd have to lift it closer to his face to hear it better, "Preparations have finally reached completion. I will need your assistance for what is to come, if we are to achieve victory."

He wanted to say something to the Pink Enigma, to calm her down or to assure her that he wasn't lying, but he could think of nothing. It was unlikely that she'd listen to him anyway. He may have been an important person to her, but he couldn't compare to Sturm, who in his eyes had pretty much acted as her father.

So tense was he, watching Icsorue rant at Sturm, that when the voice rang from his communicator he physically jumped. Keenly aware that all eyes were on him, he slowly reached into his pocked and pulled out the makeshift device. He wondered if Sturm or his minions would make an attempt to stop him from talking too much.

"We...have a situation out here," he said with a gulp. "There's currently a ceasefire, and I am speaking with the enemy commander."

He paused to let that sink in before giving the commander's name.

"Tyrian Sturm."

"Sturm . . . as I thought."

It wasn't so much the exchange between Silver and Eilert that had Sturm riled, but the voice of Silver himself. He tensed up and felt the need to continue--feeling like he was wasting time here, trying to come up with words to explain himself, and maybe redeem himself, in the eyes of the woman before him, and the companion behind him. He didn't feel the need to explain himself often, but now, he did--and the need to continued forced that feeling to subordinate itself. Sturm narrowed his eyes and looked past Icsorue, over her head--to the collapsed and crushed entrance of the fortress.

"Sanguine, make a path for me," Sturm ordered his subordinate.

"Dr. Tyr--what are . . . why are you . . .?" Why are you with that man?! WHY ARE YOU WITH THE SHADES?!? In her mind, Icsorue was screaming.

"Yes, Master," Sanguine nodded.

The "entrance" of the fortress was already trashed; it had been beaten in once before, and further barrages lead to the collapse of the overhead. The stone and metal that kept all out that need not be there was rubble beyond the collapsed overhead material--stone and metal comprising part of a wall above the main doors, fallen into rubble where the easiest entrance to access lay.

Sanguine lifted his right hand, palm open and facing the crushed entryway. The only thing keeping them out of it was the debris, though they were all connected through metal grating--as the entirety of the fortress was constructed, metal was meshed with stone as a combination to create an impenetrable fortress, a temple that only a constant barrage for hours would ever receive damage, however minor it was. The metal twisted, and with a swing of his arm, Sanguine caused dust and dirt to kick up as the debris flooded the hall before it and swarmed to the right. A path had been made.

Tyrian Sturm walked briskly, despite his tired body, and without a word, walked around Icsorue. Sanguine did not follow, though, while Sturm quickly entered the fortress he'd not seen in six months time. Icsorue hastily spun to face the entrance, and watched as Sturm raced inside.

"Doctor . . . doctor Tyr, wait!!" she cried, before snapping into step and running ahead, entering just behind him, and turning down the dimly lit corner visible just down the main hallway, extending ahead just from the hole that was once their primary entrance.

It seemed that Sturm had dropped something, though. Just before he raced into the Sky Temple, he seemingly purposefully opened his hand, letting go a crumpled piece of paper by his feet.