At last, the door swings open and we enter the dim building. There's only one hallway, and it's made out of heavily reinforced steel. Probably. I'm not a metallurgist. Our footsteps echo down the metal halls until we reach a small metal door.

"It's locked," Esilea says after a couple of tugs.

"Thank you, Captain Obvious," Icarus mutters.

"What was that?"

"The person we're supposed to protect is obviously behind the door," Icarus says. Esilea frowns, but I shake my head slowly, and she lets it go.

"You set the traps," I tell the young inventor. He nods and Esilea sets the bag down, letting him root through it, pulling out pieces.

It feels like hours, waiting in that single hallway while Icarus sets up all manner of dangerous devices. We have no idea how many to expect, or how highly trained they'll be. At least the building has vents, and it's cool outside. Keeps it from being too stuffy.

"One entrance, which doubles as the only exit. Very secure." I jump and spin, swinging my weapon. Wikolia deftly dodges it, leaning against a wall. After my heart stops pounding, I find my voice.

"What did I say about sneaking up on me?" I demand, sheathing my weapon.

"To not do it," The Wyvern casually responds.

"Then why do you continue to do it?" She turns her head to me, almost like an owl.

"How else do you expect me to make you jump like a frightened deer?" What...she...I can't even right now.

"How did you get past the traps?" Icarus demands, rolling furiously up to her.

"Let's just hope our enemies are clumsier than the Wyvern," I grumble.

"Please," Wikolia says, flipping her braid over her shoulder.

"Guys, listen." Esilea holds up a hand. We all stop as she reaches into her bag. She slowly pulls out a bow, nocking an arrow. "There." The arrow makes a soft hiss, whistling through the air. There's a low thud, and then the sound of a body crumbling.

"Nice shot," I congratulate her. An explosion follows my words, illuminating the hallway. And our innumerable assailants.

Icarus' traps take care of many of them, burning, maiming, or otherwise incapacitating them. We use the bodies as a growing wall, hacking and slashing at the reckless mercenaries. Obviously, they're not the brightest bunch. They could've sealed the door and just waited us out. But a full on assault? Amateurs. Well, it's definitely more interesting this way.

My kusarigama weaves death through their ranks. I alternate between swinging it on the chain and gripping the wooden handle to sever and slice my way through their ranks. Wikolia's whips strike with expert accuracy, riddling bodies with holes and cuts, dismembering several. Esilea switches rapidly from weapon to weapon, unpredictable and deadly.

I dodge underneath a wild swing, gutting the woman dressed in dark leather armor. I grab her sword and pull my weapon out of her stomach, slitting her throat in the same motion. I use her sword to block the next attack, parrying and kicking him in the shins. I weave through his attacks, finally landing a blow on his heels. He crumples to the ground and I crack his skull against the narrow hall walls.

A loud crash sounds out from behind the small metal door.

"The vents!" Icarus shuts, rubbing a paste onto the door. "Take cover!" I grab a body and hold it over me right before the loud bang. Metal shrapnel flies down the hall, and Esilea is rushing in before the smoke even clears.

"Go," Wikolia urges me, dispatching two more with her whips. "I've got this."

I follow Esilea into the small room, and stop short beside her. A lone woman slices her last assailant across the throat, cleaning the thin blade on the corpse's armor. She slips it back into her cane and shakes her thick brown curls out of her face. Her skin is the color of cattails swaying in the breeze, illuminated by the golden sun.

She wipes dust off her long navy blue coat, seeming to notice us for the first time. "Oh, you're the ones Vioda hired. Thanks for the help. Money's in the corner." She brushes past us, her black boots splashing through the gore and the blood in the hall. Wikolia moves to the side to let her past. "We'll be in touch!" She calls out, disappearing around the corner.

Icarus rolls in, smile gleaming. "Do you know who that was?" Esilea is staring after her, mouth open. It's a good thing I'm wearing a mask, because I'm making the same face. I'm not sure if that was rude, or badass. The young inventor continues without missing a beat. "That was Alarice Crusoe! We saved Alarice Crusoe!"

I scoop the bag of money up, patting Icarus' shoulder. "I don't think she needed any saving there, buddy." She could obviously take care of herself, the room of corpses proves that much. She didn't need us, so why were we hired? It feels like I'm in a game of cat and mouse. And I'm the cockroach in the middle.

"That was impressive," Wikolia says, flicking the blood off her whips.

"And so cool," Icarus says. He picks now to be a star struck boy when we need the analytical inventor? Teenagers.

"That's not what I said," Wikolia says, her snout twitching. I think I got it now—that means she's aggravated. See? I'm getting the hang of it.

"I don't like this," Esilea says, casually stabbing a gasping mercenary in the chest with her spear. Have I really grown so used to death that I don't even react anymore? Am I...jaded? I'll figure it out later.

"You and me both, sister," I say. The tall warrior and I fold our arms across our chest in the same movement. It's good to know that someone here is being rational. I need that solid support right now.

Alarice Crusoe is one of the richest citizens of Malor, and she's backing the Light Brigade? This looks like it could turn into all-out war. And for some reason, the leader of the resistance put us right in the middle. What's Vioda playing at?