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The building shook. Skipper didn't so much as blink, lounging on the extravagant sofa he'd found.

"Doesn't that concern you?" asked the Chorister. He was sitting behind his desk, leisurely sipping a goblet of red wine. Despite his words, the only expression on his own face was that same serene smile.

This was the Chorister's office, from what Skipper had gathered. If the man had a name beyond that, he hadn't volunteered it -- a man after Skipper's own heart. It was a nice place, too, all white marble and dark wood. A tank of alien fish bathed the room in a pale blue light, punctuated by their dark shadows. When shade passed over Skipper and the Chorister's faces, they looked so much more like themselves.

"Nah," Skipper grinned. "They're good kids. I've trained 'em up well. I'm more worried about myself, to be honest with ya."

"Oh?" the Chorister cocked his head, steepling his fingers on the desk before him. "Why's that?"

Skipper's intent gaze was like two slivers of ice. "Well… if I tried to leave this room, right now, what would happen?"

The Chorister adjusted the angle of his goblet resting on the desk. When he was seemingly satisfied, he looked back up at Skipper. "I wouldn't recommend it."

Skipper furiously waggled his eyebrows. "Oh yeah? What would you do?"

"I wouldn't recommend it."

One of the eels -- a segmented, carapace-covered thing, spiralled in the tank. Its hiss echoed ominously. The pale light of the water ran throughout the room, waving over their forms, rendering them silhouettes. With the accompanying tension, it almost felt like they were at the bottom of the ocean themselves.

"When did the trap spring?" Skipper asked, as casual as anything. "Just out of curiosity."

The Chorister held nothing back either. "There was no trap until you created it for us. We were in quite the panic when you suddenly docked here, to tell the truth. Honestly… what were you thinking?"

"If I asked you why you guys want us dead," Skipper said, leaning forward. "Would you tell me? Or would that be giving away secrets?"

"It would be," the Chorister nodded. "If I had any secrets to give you. I'm afraid I wouldn't know what exactly Dragan Hadrien has done to warrant such ire."

So it was a personal thing, and it was against Dragan specifically. The only thing Dragan had done involving the Superbians was killing that assassin the day before. Someone they knew wanted revenge, then? But that didn't explain why the Superbians went after them in the first place.

"Man, that sucks," Skipper sighed, twisting over on the couch to lie down on it horizontally. He put his arms behind his head as a pillow, letting his eyes gently close.

"Oh? You're certainly making yourself comfortable." There was a note of wry amusement in the Chorister's voice.

Skipper yawned. "Sure am. Besides, this is a good opportunity for me."

The Chorister's expression changed, his smile flipping into a bemused frown. "An opportunity? What do you mean?"

Skipper's eyes opened, and there was a shadow behind them.

"A good opportunity for you and me to chat, pal," he said. "There's a whole lot for us to discuss."

Giovanni took another step down the stairs.

A wall of dusty fog had been erected by his initial attack: perhaps he'd gone a little overboard. One of the First Verse's spears would have been sufficient to skewer an unsuspecting opponent -- there had been no need for ten. All he'd achieved with such overkill was collateral damage.

Still… it was unwise to allow his vision to be obstructed.

Second Verse.

He used it only for a second -- a vague red shape appearing around him and immediately vanishing. The shockwave created as a side-effect of the ability came in handy, however. It burst out from around his form, blowing the dust away and clearing out the great room before him.

Broken marble. Shattered glass. Crumpled wood.

If anyone else had done this, it would have been vandalism approaching blasphemy. Giovanni Sigma Testament, however, was still dissatisfied. He narrowed his eyes as he finished scanning the room.

No blood. No body parts. No corpse.

Dragan Hadrien was still alive, then. Clearly he'd underestimated the rat -- perhaps ten spears actually hadn't been enough. The weapons had dissipated after hitting the ground, and Giovanni could still see the small dark holes where they'd drilled down through the stone. None of them had actually hit Hadrien.

Giovanni took another step down.

At that speed, there was no way Hadrien should have been able to dodge with natural human reflexes. Even Giovanni's Third Verse wouldn't have allowed it. Hadrien obviously had some kind of ability that had allowed him to avoid the attack via unorthodox means.

He thought back to the footage he'd seen of Hadrien killing Jamie, suppressing the shivers of rage that had accompanied the memory. In that clip, Hadrien had recorded the incoming attack and then manifested it again, firing it right back at Jamie. Was it possible that…?

Sixth Verse.

Giovanni smiled a thin smile. It was.

If Dragan could breathe, it would have been ragged.

He'd only just managed to avoid that attack by going into Gemini World -- and now he floated through the room, disparate, observing his attacker as they entered the chamber proper. The grand doors slid shut behind him as he descended the stairs, blocking off Dragan's escape route.

"There are no human remains here," his dark-haired enemy said, voice echoing throughout the hallowed space. "Therefore, I can only conclude I haven't killed you."

From what Dragan had seen, this enemy probably had three different abilities. Some kind of teleport which he'd used to get rid of Bruno and Ruth, the power to create and shoot those crystal spears, and some kind of shockwave he'd used a moment ago to clear the debris.

The shockwave meant getting close to him was risky, but that wasn't Dragan's style anyway. If he positioned himself correctly, he should be able to absorb a couple of those crystal spears into Gemini Shotgun without getting hit by the rest.

It was pretty basic as far as plans went, but it was all he had. All that mattered now was the timing. He began to adjust his position, trying to circle around behind the enemy before reappearing.

It was a good opportunity: his attacker was still busy speaking. "There are any number of means you could have used to avoid my attack. Perhaps you teleported away. Perhaps you projected some kind of illusion, and I hit something else instead of you. Perhaps you turned yourself invisible, died, and now I simply cannot see your corpse. Or perhaps…"

His gaze moved -- and he looked directly at Dragan.

"...perhaps you've recorded your body into Aether, and are now trying to get behind me?"

He could see through Gemini World. Another power, one enhancing his perceptions, allowing him to see what would ordinarily be imperceptible?

If he stayed in Gemini World, this man would just watch him like a hawk, and attack the instant he emerged from it. There was only one way to retain the element of surprise.

Gemini World.

Dragan manifested himself immediately, leaping forward as blue sparks wrote him back into existence like a 3D printer. The second he reappeared, he fired the debris he'd already absorbed straight forward -- a shotgun blast of rock and glass zooming towards the enemy.

Dragan had hoped for surprise, but the dark-haired man seemed to have anticipated this. He raised his hand, palm open, and spoke.

"Second Verse," he intoned. "First Verse."

With his first two words -- and an accompanying shockwave -- a bubble of crimson crystal formed around him, creating a shield that deflected Dragan's attacks. With his last two words, four more crystal spears appeared -- each aiming at a different part of Dragan's body -- and fired.

Gemini World was useless for hiding here, but there was no better way to dodge multiple attacks like this.

Gemini World.

He vanished in the instant the spears were about to hit him, and appeared again a second later. With a rush of movement, he grabbed his pistol from its holster and pointed it at the --

Impact. Pain.

Dragan looked down.

There, protruding from his left leg, was one of the crystal spears, its red colour cemented by Dragan's blood. It had gone right through Dragan's knee, lodging in the wound.

A ricochet. Of course. That was why this bastard had kept the shield up.

The spear finally vanished -- and Dragan collapsed to the floor. The wound in his leg, finally made open, began gushing out blood copiously. The pain was excruciating, burning, like some dire organ had malfunctioned and started producing acid inside of him. Dragan clutched his damaged leg, teeth bared to such a degree that they too were agony, and whimpered.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the shield around his opponent disappear -- and they took a confident step forwards.

"Giovanni Sigma Testament," they smiled, looking down at him. "That is my name -- and I'll be taking your right leg next."

The guy with the cards bowed theatrically to Ruth and Bruno.

"A pleasure to make your acquaintances," he said, a bullshit smirk tugging at the edges of his lips. "While circumstances have made us enemies, I hope we can still have respect for each other. The rules of the game will be as follows --"

Ruth charged, leaving him no time to speak, her claws scraping against the ground and producing copious amounts of sparks. The smug bastard backed up out of his bow, the slightest gasp escaping his throat -- and pulled a card from the top of his deck.

The instincts of a predator pushed Ruth on.

A few metres more. I can make it before he does anything. One claw through the head, another through the heart.

The smug man glanced down at the card for a moment before grinning -- and throwing it down onto the ground before him. "Creature Card," he declared, gesticulating wildly with one arm. "Sacrifice Antsassin!"

Yellow Aether, sickly and diseased, crawled over the card on the ground -- and then a dark shape shot out of it, rushing towards Ruth. She did not break her stride.

She registered the threat in an instant. Another giant ant, like the one that had teleported her here, only this one was thinner and leaner, with red eyes glinting all over its face. It lunged at her, a knife-like proboscis bursting out of the centre of its face, aimed straight for Ruth's heart.

Still, she did not stop running -- because she knew Bruno del Sed had her back.

The proboscis snapped against Bruno's forcefield, erected in a split second to protect Ruth's face. Before the Sacrifice Antsassin could react, Ruth leapt, flipping over the forcefield and crushing the creature's torso with an Aether-infused stomp.

A growl pouring from her lips, she swung back around to face her opponent.

He seemed to have recovered from her sudden attack. His shocked expression was replaced by the same old smirk, and he was holding another card between two fingers. One of his eyes opened, just slightly, and Ruth saw a bright yellow pupil staring at her from the depths of a crow-black eye.

"Sacrifice Antsassin," he repeated, licking his lips in anticipation. "Ability activate."

The mass under Ruth's boot shifted, and she immediately leapt away. She did so in the nick of time -- if she'd delayed any further, she doubted she could have escaped without injury. Despite the fatal wound Ruth had inflicted, the ant had gotten back up.

And now it was slavering with acidic spit.

And now it was covered with dark armour.

And now it was twice as big.

Oh, Ruth thought. Oh shit.