Indeed, as Icsorue laid her eyes on Eilert for the first time since the fight began, she would see just what kind of shape he was in. His hair, which was normally slightly fluffy anyway, was frazzled in a way that would have been rather humorous in other circumstances, but now was another sign of the damage he'd taken thus far. His visible skin was covered in burns, and his clothing was singed or even burned through in many patches, including the rather wide hole over his chest. The frozen sweat on his brow was now beginning to thaw. All in all, he'd have been dead a few times over if it weren't for his glyphs, and even with them he was taxing his body to its limit to continue struggling against her.

"You're doing well, Icsorue," he stated as shakily climbed to his feet again. He would take a small shock over freezing to death any day, and so long as she was capable of helping him avoid the more deadly attacks by hitting him with comparatively minor ones, he figured he could still fight.

He didn't comment on Sturm's line...he personally had trouble wrapping his head around fighting for the sake of the world. Fighting for his own sake, and for their's...that was the best he could do. He wasn't sure how she would feel, though. Was she like Sturm? Could she fight for the world even when she couldn't for herself or her allies?

"oI don't . . . want any of it . . ." Icsorue gasped, speaking only between her desperate gasps for air, ". . . to disappear . . ."

She wanted to believe Eilert and conclude that she was making some sort of progress, but Icsorue couldn't bring herself to do that. In the end, she had caused all this pain and anguish and death, and there was no way she could deny that.

Icsorue could attack--and she only had so much power at her disposal. There was a point when her mind couldn't do much more, and could generate no further control of the elements. She could do that--it was easy to overload herself. The sparks began to focus, striking the floor around her, a circle of energy gathered about her of static dancing across the twisted metal floor and a focused mist not of Silver's influence, but the sheer cold. There was a groan--an inhuman groan, an inanimate groan, the moan of thick sheet metal as it twisted and wrenched at the command of another.

"Ngggaa--AHHHHH!!" Icsorue screamed at the very top of her lungs.

Sturm instantly stepped forward. He wanted to reach out and grab her, possibly try and pull her away from the amassed power she was pooling around her, but he couldn't. Icsorue was the only one of them that could survive that for very long. He understood why she was doing it, though: she was deterring the power from focusing upon Eilert and Sturm, and attacking the area around her . . . even if that meant inflicting harm upon herself.

". . . i-it . . . it hurts . . ."

The pink enigma dipped her head down again, unable to look--not because of the pain of seeing what she had done to Eilert, but because of the pain. She squeezed her forehead with her hands, as it was not her body that hurt the most, but her mind. She was making it a point to overload herself.

"Icsorue . . . you have to exert control," Sturm continued.

"oI CAN'T!"

"You can. You just have to keep trying . . ."

". . . n-no--no, it hurts--it hurts too much . . ." she shook her head quickly, ". . . just . . . just get rid of me--make it stop--make it stop and finish Silver . . ."

Sturm hesitated. He couldn't respond to that. Tightly, he held the gun in his hand, but refused to raise it, though his arm wished to. To fight for the world . . . that's what he did. He discarded his personal relationships for it, he and his companions were willing to die for it, and willing to sacrifice each other if it were to reduce the threat. They were willing to sacrifice one life for a hundred. It was a matter of efficiency and thinking not of the individual, but the community as a whole. That was the kind of man he was. This was in no way a matter of cruelty, for even when he could justify shooting an innocent young girl, even if his temporary allies at the time refused to permit it . . .

It was for her own good.

"Icsorue!" Eilert, too, could see what she was doing, and while it accomplished her goal in keeping herself from attacking them, it didn't help Eilert's goal of freeing her. With the ground around her so charged with her powers, there was no way he could hope to get close--even with his cloak's protection, trying to go through that much energy would be suicide.

This left him at an impasse, as even if he tried one of his makeshift rock bombs she was already in so much pain that he doubted she'd notice even if he managed a direct hit--and he wished to avoid hurting her as much as possible.

But if I don't do something, she'll kill herself like that...

An idea struck him, but it would require a bit of preparation--he had to hope she'd last long enough, and that Sturm wouldn't do something rash. He pulled his mana pen and began to draw the glyphs he needed as quickly and accurately as he could.

"Icsorue...I know how you feel, but...I cannot fight for this world. I know so little of it...." He talked while he worked, trying to keep her attention, to focus her on something other than the pain.

"As meager as my connection is to you and Tyrian...you are all I have. So a world without both of you in it...such a world is truly meaningless to me. While I still breathe, I will not let either of you die."

Hold on...for just a little longer...I'm almost finished...

"oI want to foight for everything . . ." Icsorue replied to Eilert, breathing in as if she were crying again, "For you and Dr. Tyr and everyone and everything . . . oI want to be with you and have a place to be with you, and people to see and a loife to live . . . and oI want you to live! oI want you to live and grow old and have a second chance!"

"You can, Icsorue," Sturm added, "And that's exactly what you're doing. You're fighting for everything, and you're doing a good job."

"But oI'm . . . oI'm just . . . oI'm just . . . a puppet. A puppet can't foight," Icsorue breathed sharply, "He knew--he knew you wouldn't kill me, and he knew . . . that . . . that you wouldn't bloody well get past me, and he knew . . . and he knew . . ." Icsorue fought tears again . . . "That oI wouldn't kill you . . ."

The cold around her grew, taking hold of the metal all around, while the groans of twisting steel began to shift up: the massive steel tiles were lifting. The electricity about her began to grow, no longer becoming a danger to all before her, but a danger to all above her, as sparks began to cling to the ceiling, traveling from her to the steel tiles above.

"It's just . . . a distraction," she coughed--the cold was seriously starting to get to her body, now. "Wotever he's doing . . . he just needed toime--we're giving him toime . . . we can't . . ."

The sparks continued to grow, flickering about her body and taking shape all around, no longer just sparks, by visible electrical currents flowing towards metal, attaching from Icsorue to the floor, reaching for the walls, reaching for the ceiling. She had become a chilled generator.

"Dr. Tyr! Please!!" She had reached the point of begging. "Make it stop . . ."

Tyrian Sturm stared at her, a frog in his throat. ". . . Ic . . . sorue . . ."

She was right. It made perfect sense. Silver was the type of man to bet on that--so subtle. That's how he worked. He was blatant, working right in front of a person's face, but so subtle that the person never noticed. He should have known that Icsorue wouldn't outright murder them just based on the fact that she wasn't acting anything like a drone--so, why continue to use her? And why not command her to induce further electricity into their bodies earlier to finish them off? The answer was simple: because he didn't intend to kill them. He was simply trying to get them out of the way.

It was that realization that called for Sturm's right arm to twitch. His hand continued to hold the gun tight, the safety latch on. Sturm stared to the floor, unable to even look at Icsorue as he tried to contemplate it. To kill her for the sake of the world . . .

The gun was raised, but no bullet was fired. At first, he couldn't look at her, but after a moment, he trained his eyes on her and brought his left hand up to steady his aim. He was so slow to undo the safety latch with his thumb--so unwilling. So much pain was in his face, as he felt the emotional urge to fall to his knees and damn everything all at once. Sturm didn't pull the trigger, though--simply aimed, and continued to try and convince himself that this was right. For the world . . .

"Icsorue, you aren't just a puppet. You are fighting his control even now." There was no doubting that much; as he'd pointed out before, Icsorue could kill both of them pretty easily if she used her full power. Her own unwillingness to kill them was keeping that power at bay, at least partially anyway.

However, Sturm was apparently agreeing that they were running out of time, for he raised his gun and pointed it at Icsorue. Though he did not yet remove the safety, the sight caused Eilert's blood to run cold, and before he even made a conscious decision to act his body was already running as fast as it was capable of towards the former Prime Director.

"Don't you dare pull that trigger, Tyrian Sturm!" he panted, not stopping his charge until he was between the gun and Icsorue. He wasn't like them; he didn't care much for the world. If it couldn't be saved without sacrificing her, then in his opinion it wasn't worth saving anyway.

Icsorue raised her head. She heard to click signifying the removal of the safety, and was prompted to look into the eyes of Tyrian Sturm--his watering, blinking eyes, darkened by sleep loss, covered half-way by heavy lids constantly threatening to close for the last time. This was what she would have preferred. This is how she'd have wanted to go.

Saving the world . . . Icsorue couldn't help but crack a semblance of a smile, however brief it was--she never thought she'd do anything like that. The enigmas didn't save the world, they kept the foreign influences out, but they didn't save it. A human being could start a war untouched by demonic or angelic taint, and the guardians took no part in its prevention. No, Icsorue never once dreamed that she might die for the sake of the world, and if she did, she'd have thought of herself as nothing more than a preposterous dreamer! No better than a silly idealist, something the guardians had no use for!

"Please . . ." she whispered.

Sturm had practically disregarded Eilert's shout. If this was what had to happen, then he was going to do it. Sturm fought for the world, he died for the world--and all of his companions did the same. Desmon, Emitt, and Davon . . . for the world, they sacrificed themselves. Because Sturm had the methods to save it, they saved him--he didn't want it, but in the end, that was what had to happen, and he wasn't going to let their sacrifices go on vain. If Silver succeeded in whatever he was trying, that would be exactly what he was doing: letting his companions' and compatriots' deaths go unjustified . . .

Eilert was some ways away; it would take him seconds to reach Sturm, and even longer due to his injuries and the effects of the cold still weighing upon him. It was a wonder that he could even run; he should very well have been stumbling, limping--but then again, any normal man would have died a dozen deaths for all that Eilert had experienced today.

Tyrian Sturm narrowed his eyes. Icsorue wasn't in the way--he didn't want to think of her like that. He didn't want to think of her at all, now; he wanted to put her out of mind, and cease picturing the young girl bouncing around his office, or the young woman that was so enamored with him, a human being he respected just as much as he did Eilert Draugr, but loved more than he did any other. He squeezed his left hand tight, suddenly finding the simple act of pulling the trigger so difficult. Icsorue spread her arms for him and gave him a clear opening to shoot her in the heart and end all of her pain at once, and leave him the opportunity to end Silver with his bare hands . . .



Sturm blinked . . .



His shoulders began to shake. Eilert was close--he could stumble in and stop him, just ten feet from it. Sturm could keep his resolve but not shoot, and feel confident that he knew what had to be done, even if he didn't do it. He could do that, but . . . pulling the trigger . . . he had to. For the world's sake . . . he had to . . .


"SHOOT HER!!" Sturm shouted at loud as he could, commanding Fenix without care if he was heard or not--it didn't matter, now; something much, much more important than had suddenly come up, "Shoot her NOW!!"

"Wh-what . . . ?!" Emma shot a horrified glance to Sturm, "What are you . . . d-d-don't! Don't hurt Mayako!"

"M-master . . . !" Usurii exclaimed, unable to comprehend why her master had ordered this, "Y-you can't . . . you can't have that girl killed!"

"Fenix, kill her! Now!" Sturm insisted, frantic and demanding--he spoke with the utmost urgency, and yet he was demanding that Fenix kill a teenage girl . . .


The aim of his gun began to falter, and soon, it was trained upon the floor, instead. "I can't."

And for a brief moment, he was able to appreciate the irony of his situation--that he could command someone to execute a girl he hardly knew, but he could not do it himself with someone he did. Would have have been able to pull the trigger then, too? He smiled at this realization.

Sturm's gun fell to the floor, loaded, but not fired--

". . . no . . . no, no . . ." Icsorue's voice was filled with shock, pain, sadness--regret, regret, regret--

Sturm coughed once he realized that his feet were no longer upon the floor. He tasted iron in his mouth and felt blood upon his lips. Tired eyes looked down to the floor, so far away. Six feet between he and the floor, the steel-less stone floor, a line of stone under the steel which seemed non-existence for that one line, a latitudinal line cut through the plates of metal.

Then, the pain finally hit him. He coughed again and strained--what was it, shock? Weakly, he kicked his legs and reached out his arms, and held onto the flat rod which grew from the floor and had itself sunk through his chest. He coughed and gasped, but didn't shout or scream--he couldn't. His lungs were filling with blood-- no. That wasn't the cause. He was run through, straight, the left side of his chest punctured, the metal frame jagged through his back, his left arm immobilized, his body so weak he could do no more than sputter when he tried to speak, and wince under the pressure within his body.

"DOCTOR TYR~~!!!!" Icsorue screamed, once more as loud as her lungs could reach--as she felt once more the pain of a blade run through her metaphorical heart, a blade she commanded herself.

It turned out that as fast as his body could move was not nearly as fast as he wanted it to be...not nearly as fast as he needed. He was still some distance away from Sturm when he flicked off the safety, and it flashed through Eilert's mind that if he still had his glyph placed upon Sturm's neck he could prevent this. But would he be able to? What would he do if he had to choose between the two people most important to him? He wasn't sure, and part of him was grateful he didn't have to make such a choice.

And it turned out no intervention was needed--as he drew close enough to actually be able to do something, Sturm lowered the gun. Slowing himself (though he wasn't moving particularly fast in the first place), he allowed himself to breathe a sigh of relief.

That was when a metal rod pierced through his friend's chest.

For a moment he was dumbstruck--it just wasn't possible. Icsorue'd been redirecting her powers around her...she shouldn't have...

"Tyrian!"

Calm down! You have to do something...you can still save him... He took a deep breath. Now more than ever he needed to keep his head, remained focused. He turned towards the poor girl who was no doubt blaming herself for what just happened.

"Icsorue! Listen to me! If we can get him onto a healing glyph before he loses too much blood, we can save him. But I can't draw the glyph and fight you at the same time...you need to rein in your powers and buy me some time."

The "blade" comprised entirely of steel sheets pushed forward, injecting itself into the rounded wall nearly twenty feet away. It arced up at the middle and withdrew like a scorpion's tail, quickly pulling out of Sturm's body. The former Prime Director fell, landing first upon his feet and collapsing back, now leaned back against the wall. He wasn't moving or responding--not shouting or groaning, potentially in shock or worse.

The lifted "blade" arced back this time, back more and more until it twisted itself into a full circle, its sharp edge jammed into the floor just feet behind Icsorue. It would have landed on her had she been able to command it for such.

". . . oI . . . killed him, too . . ." Icsorue whispered in shock.

Icsorue had collapsed. She sat upon her knees with her arms limp and the back of her hands against the bare stone once covered by steel. The static and cold had all but dispersed from her person, but that couldn't even remotely exist as a form of security, not enough for Eilert to justify leaving Icsorue sit. She hadn't agreed to giving him time, or acknowledged his request in any way--she had simply been broken. If her powers would start back up in a second or a minute, there was no way to tell. Her defenses were completely down, though. For this brief opportunity, Eilert would even be able to walk up to her and save her mind, if it even could be salvaged.

His window of time was unclear, but the danger was: the walls and ceiling were all groaning, the metal was twisting. He had a minute opportunity to save Icsorue--and if he didn't, there was a fair chance that he'd not be able to save her at all, or even himself . . . such would require him to temporarily abandon Sturm, however, even if it were for only a moment . . .

He received no response from Icsorue--she merely collapsed, the weight of what she'd done too much for her fragile psyche. Her powers dispersed, and she was left open...it was a chance he needed to take. Whether from her powers or simply from the amount of damage it'd taken, the room seemed like it was ready to collapse. Even if he healed Sturm first, there was no guarantee that the ceiling would hold before he was done...or that Icsorue wouldn't start attacking again.

"Tyrian...hold on," he whispered. Even if it was only for a few moments, he had to delay treating the man. As fast as his wounded body could move, he made his way to Icsorue--unharmed, even. Despite all the preparations he made, in the end he could get through without resistance.

Without hesitation he crouched down in front of her, placing a hand on her neck and finally imprinting the Glyph of Will on her. She would be free from Silver's control...but that didn't mean her mind was well.

"Icsorue...listen to me. Tyrian Sturm can still be saved, but it will take some time to heal him. You need to keep him safe while he does. Do so you, and you will both get your second chances...I will make sure of it."

Once Eilert placed his hand upon the back of Icsorue's neck, she moved--not away from him, but towards him. With her head dipped low, she rested her forehead upon Eilert's chest. It wasn't much more than a second after the glyph of will was imprinted that the groaning of the walls and ceiling had been quelled.

Her power hadn't dissipated after all--it had been focused upon the steel covering the walls and ceiling, likely to tear them up into arced dangers very similar to the one that had befallen Sturm. It was done, though--her mind was her own, and her power was quelled. After today, if they truly managed to survive, it was unlikely that she would psychokinesis for any purpose whatsoever for a fairly long time. That aside, there was very little she could do with it now that would be even remotely helpful to her friends. It was left alone and discarded for now.

". . . oI'm just a killer . . .," Icsorue whispered, her voice so quiet and meek that it would take concentration to listen to her, ". . . a no good killer . . . oI can't help--oI can't help anyone . . ."

Icsorue was shaking all over, but not necessarily out of fear or mental and emotional pain. Of course she was afraid, and of course she was mentally and emotionally broke, likely to never feel right for a great length of time, but her biological problems trumped this. She was freezing. It wasn't something that healing could fix, unless it was killing her--and the worst that could happen was hypothermia. Icsorue trembled all over, shivering violently. She was so cold, and everything hurt so much . . . if Eilert really wanted her moving around, he'd have to help her.

". . . oI d-don't . . . deserve a second chance . . ."

There was finally a groan across the atrium, with Sturm leaning his head back and pulling his left knee up and close to his chest. If Icsorue thought that every part of her body hurt, but those physical pains were vastly trumped by Sturm's. His body couldn't even repair itself, not under the consequences of his intense sleep deprivation. Nonetheless, he was conscious and alive.

"Icsorue..." She was freezing--that was the first thing he noticed, even as he placed the glyph on her. Though it'd gone unseen, she had even redirected her cryokinesis to the area around her...and nearly froze herself to death in the process. He didn't have any glyphs for warming people up...the best he could do was wrap his enigma cloak around her, adding another layer. "You helped plenty...I'd be dead right now if it wasn't for you resisting."

"Whether or not you think you deserve a second chance...you will get one." The room stopped shaking...it was her power after all that caused it, which meant that he wouldn't need her to keep the room from collapsing on them. "Now, come."

Wrapping his arms around her, he helped her to her feet, starting to move towards where Sturm sat against the wall...and by some miracle was still moving. "See? He's still alive, and I won't let him die." Now that the battle was over, his voice returned to its usual soft-spoken tone...though it carried much more emotion than it ever did before.

Indeed, she didn't feel as if she deserved a second chance--not in the slightest, not after consciously witnessing the things she had done to her friends. Even if Eilert and Sturm both reassured her of this simultaneously and as warmly as they possibly could, there was no way for her to feel that she deserved it. Icsorue wanted to die, and if Eilert hadn't saved her just a moment ago, she'd have ensured that she did. The trembling walls and ceiling hadn't been meant for Eilert or Sturm, but herself.

It was truly a great relief for Icsorue to see Sturm moving again, though. She let her eyes focus on him, but no matter how relieved she was to see him still alive, she was a hundred times more remorseful . . .

"D-Doctor Tyr . . . oI'm sorry . . ." Icsorue held back from crying again--it was starting to physically hurt when she cried. "oI'm so sorry . . ."

"It's fine-- nhhh-- Icsorue," replied Sturm, wincing, "I . . . don't . . . fault you."

No matter how many times one or both of them could say it, they weren't going to make Icsorue believe that. "No--no! It isn't . . . it isn't foine . . ."

She stopped trying to walk. They were only a few feet from where Sturm lay, and Icsorue let all of her weight drop to the floor. She'd slide out of Eilert's arms and back down to her knees, where she once again felt herself going limp. Seeing Eilert and Sturm so beaten up because of her . . . it was horrible. Sturm had taken a wound that would have been fatal were Eilert not there, and couldn't even walk anymore, and Eilert could barely even walk on his own. It must have been willpower alone that kept him from stumbling with each step, but even that would eventually start to crumble.

"Icsorue . . . we can-- agh . . . we can deal with this later. I apologize, but . . .," Sturm declared, pain in his voice, "I must first . . . stop Silver . . ."

Sturm reached his arm up, grabbing for the wall, intending to use it as leverage for standing. His gun was near the middle of the atrium and he needed to grab it and go--he needed to go after Silver. Their obstacle was gone, and they couldn't waste anymore time. It was the same reason he never slept: Sturm had six months of work behind him, work in which he found too imperative to allow for rest. Even if he was sitting, he was working--researching, writing, thinking. He was lucky to have never been hurt during that time; he'd have gone through a rough time healing naturally, all things considered.

Unfortunately he couldn't stand, and let out a pained grunt as he fell back to the floor. He was bleeding quite a bit, having experienced a puncture wound through his chest and back. All things considered, though, he was holding up rather well. It was going to take more than stabbing him in the chest to kill Tyrian Sturm . . .

"As a doctor, you should know that there's no chance of you being able to lift that gun right now, let alone fire it with any accuracy." Eilert didn't stop Icsorue from sliding out of his arms; instead, he quickly crouched between her and Sturm, taking out his mana pen. It was sheer willpower, plus the glyphs of Power and Celerity, that kept him going, and even with their aid he could hardly move. Without them, he wouldn't be able to move at all...he could very well die.

But Silver needed to be stopped; the Glyph of Healing would take time to heal a wound like Sturm's, time that they might not have. And Icsorue was in no mental condition to be sent in after Silver, not after what she'd just been through.

It took all his concentration to draw the glyph, to keep his arm steady enough. Being even a little erroneous in the process meant the glyph would not work, and though it seemed Sturm was not dead yet, if he wasn't healed before too long he would be. He couldn't afford to make a mistake.

"There. Icsorue, you're hurt too, so you should sit in the glyph with him...make sure he doesn't do anything foolish like try and leave before his wound is healed." He gave a wry smile...that would certainly be a reckless, self-destructive move, but he wasn't going to be doing much better.

"Do not worry Sturm...I'll settle things with Silver," he said as, with as much care as he could muster in his current condition, he helped him move the couple of feet to the glyph. But Eilert himself would not be stepping on it...

"If I had another . . . ngg-- serum . . ." Sturm strained to speak, "I'd be fine."

But he was all out of those; he had used the last ones brought with him during the ascent of the mountainside. In his state of extreme sleeplessness, it was physically impossible for him to move without the effects of his "serums." In fact, he was still under the effects of one of them, but its effects were waning. Before he departed for this, he had presumed that what he brought would have been enough, and had they not been forced to fight Icsorue, it would have. Perhaps the only mistake he had made up to this point was allowed Icsorue to follow Silver with him--and a costly mistake it had been.

Sturm shut his eyes tightly and tensed up, letting out a pained grown between his teeth as Eilert lifted him up. Set against the wall once more, but to the left--upon a glyph, this time--Sturm remained almost limp, just as before. The effects of healing, for his wound, were not going to be immediate in any way--it was going to take time.

No . . . I don't deserve it.

She didn't say anything about it, but Icsorue wasn't going to be on the glyph--she wasn't going to accept that help, regardless of how generous it was. She wasn't too terribly hurt, anyways, and the most she needed about now was a warm fire . . .

". . . oI'll make sure . . ." she whispered.

Icsorue was barely in the mental condition to get up, let alone watch over someone else--but for Eilert and Sturm, she'd do it. Though she didn't sit upon the glyph, she scooted closer to the wall, where she could sit by Sturm. Right now, she just wanted to be close to someone. Despite all of her self loathing (rightful self loathing, as far as she was concerned), she still wanted to have a body near, someone warm and comforting--even if they couldn't make it all better and take back time.

Sturm stared ahead, his teeth still clenched. Dealing with Silver was something he felt that he should be doing--he or one of his colleagues. And then . . . he remembered . . .

"Eilert . . ." Sturm spoke up, loud enough for Eilert to hear, despite how much pain it caused Sturm personally, "Be careful."

Eilert was going to say something to Icsorue, that he wounds though light should still be treated, and given that the wounds were caused by him he felt a bit guilty for it. However, seeing the position she took next to Sturm...he wasn't going to interrupt.

Quite an odd pair they make. They were the closest people he had to friends (he did not think he deserved to call them friends, not yet) and though they clearly were concerned about him, he realized that they felt for each other much more strongly than they felt for him.

"I will," he responded with a nod. He reached into his pocket, pulling out his communicator once more and setting it down near the two. "Here...all the enigmas outside have these on them. If your subordinate is paying attention, you may be able to get a hold of him."

He wanted to say something to them...he was determined to kill Silver, but he was also very weak. Even on the best of days he looked ill, and right now he likely looked like a walking corpse. If the Prime Director had any kind of combat abilities, he could very well be marching to his death...but it was a risk he had to take. After everything both Sturm and Icsorue went through, he would not back down now...he would not let their world end.

So instead he silently limped away from them, pausing only to pick up Sturm's gun, and strode up the staircase to the double doors that led deeper into the complex, where Silver was waiting...