The spectre floated over the gap between buildings, watching Ruth cautiously as it awaited it's answer. The thing gave her the creeps.
"Ruth," Dragan whispered. "Trust me. Pick blue."
Ruth glanced over at him for a moment. No doubt Dragan had some kind of plan to cheat their way to victory -- but when it came to fighting, Ruth Blaine knew how to win like a fish knew how to swim. She sighed and opened her mouth.
"Red," she said.
The creature adjusted its grip on the throwing knives, ever so slightly. "You have chosen the path of red," it said. "So be it."
The first time the thing had attacked, Ruth hadn't been able to intercept it -- but now that she had an idea of its speed, she could just move earlier to compensate for it. She lowered her body to the ground, claws crossed in front of her face as if she was expecting her enemy to rush at her.
There was a glint of moonlight reflecting off a moving knife. There.
Noblesse Set.
In the same second, the Noblesse Set manifested around her body and was instantly destroyed with a sound like shattering glass -- accompanied by a scream of pain from her enemy. It had been outplayed.
The handles of five throwing knives -- still sparking with Ruth's Aether -- protruded from the spectre's body, scattered around its torso, crimson blood pouring down from its wounds into the chasm below.
This thing obviously would prefer to stay at range, so if she gave it the chance to do so it would execute whatever these paths were at a distance. The funny thing, though, was that any projectiles it threw were probably slower than it itself.
Slow enough for her to counter, at least.
Ruth ran forward with Aether-flared legs as the spectre writhed in mid-air, reaching over to pull one of the throwing knives out of its shoulder. As if she'd let it do that. She zoomed past Dragan and leapt through the air, colliding with the spectre and seizing hold of it with all her strength -- the throwing knives made excellent handholds.
The spectre swiped with its free hand, trying to cut through Ruth with the curved blade -- but Ruth simply flipped over onto its back instead, ripping one of the throwing knives out and taking it with her.
Then, she threw it straight at Dragan.
The Cogitant's eyes widened in horror for a moment as the knife zoomed towards him -- but at the last second, just as Ruth had expected, it vanished in a spark of blue Aether. His surprised expression twisted into a cocky grin.
"Better move your head, Ruth," Dragan said. "Gemini Shotgun."
There was a flash of blue light -- and in the same moment, the throwing knife reappeared, slamming into the spectre's stomach with frightening speed, steam rising gently from the blade. Instantly, the head of the spectre snapped to turn to Dragan, and its laboured voice echoed out:
"Two paths lie before you," it rasped. "A path of blue, and a path of -- argh!"
Ruth had reached over, still clinging to the creature's back, and pulled another knife out of its shoulder -- interrupting it's little monologue. Then, just as she had the first time, she hurled the knife towards Dragan, who absorbed it into his Gemini Shotgun.
The dance began.
It was a repetitive but bloody three-person waltz -- the spectre spinning as it's attention switched between two targets, Ruth tossing blades to Dragan, and Dragan firing those blades right back at the spectre. The five throwing knives were passed back and forth, zooming through the night air like blue dashes of light, each impact accompanied by a wet crack and a splash of blood.
"Two paths lie before you -- a path of blue and a --"
Ruth pulled the knife free. The enemy's eyes snapped to look at her.
"Two paths lie before you -- a path of --"
Dragan fired the knife back. The enemy's eyes snapped to look at him.
"Two paths lie before --"
Ruth pulled the knife free. The enemy's eyes snapped to look at her.
"Two paths --"
Dragan fired the knife back. The enemy's eyes snapped to look at him.
Just like a robot.
Ruth grinned to herself as the dance went on -- they could do this, they could win, they were winning! Just like a poorly programmed video-game character, the spectre was only able to focus on a single target at once. Before it could act on that attention, though, the other person was free to launch an attack -- redirecting it's attention towards them, and on and on until the enemy was defeated. So long as they kept this pace up, eventually the creature would be too damaged to even move -- and then they could finish it off.
Ruth went to grab the knife once more --
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"Enough."
-- but her hand met only empty space. The spectre was suddenly gone, replaced by crackling sparkles of red-and-blue Aether, and she was falling. She plummeted into the gap between two buildings -- the last thing she saw before falling out of sight being Dragan's surprised, horrified face.
It was a long way down to the ground, but not nearly long enough.
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Dragan blinked uncomprehendingly at the space the spectre had just been occupied. The red-and-blue sparks of Aether remaining soon vanished too, leaving nothing but empty air.
Ruth had fallen out of sight -- from the timing, there was no doubt it had been intentional. That had been an unorthodox attack on the part of the spectre, but an attack all the same, intended to deal with Ruth and avoid Dragan at the same time.
But that didn't make sense.
The fight they'd had with the spectre so far had been like clockwork -- it responded in specific ways to specific stimuli, and didn't divert from those behaviours. Had that been intentional on its part? Had it acted predictable in order to bait them into acting predictable, opening them up to an easy counterattack?
It was possible, very possible. If it was true, though, that implied the spectre had…
"Intelligence, yes," whispered a hollow voice in Dragan's ear. "It seems you were just a step too slow."
Dragan went to spin around, but -- just as the spectre had said -- he was far too slow. Before he could even finish the turn, a sudden burning pain erupted on the back of his shoulder, and a scream escaped his throat. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw it -- the spectre had thrust one of its remaining knives into his shoulder blade, and was slowly turning it in place even as he looked.
His body tried to fall to its knees, but the spectre held him up with just the handle of the knife -- which only intensified his agony. The creature tutted as Dragan screamed.
"You chose the path of blue," it said. "Strangulation with unkind, unclean hands. Rejoice, kin of the Blindman. Your redemption is at hand."
And with that, it finally turned him around, wrapping the fingers of its free hand around his throat and lifting him into the air.
It was over. It was over. It was over. The pain in his shoulder was excruciating, the chaos it created in his mind scattering any attempt at mustering his Aether. He could feel the bandaged fingers leisurely squeezing tighter and tighter around his throat, tighter and tighter, tighter and tighter, and before long he knew there would be a hollow crunch.
Feral, hateful eyes inches from his own. Familial hands around his throat.
"If only you'd never existed," his mother hissed. "If only you'd never been born."
This was it. They'd lost. His life had ended.
Dragan's eyes fluttered closed…
...only to open again when a flash of radiant light burst up from the gap between the buildings.
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Twenty-five.
Ruth Blaine fell, the ground inexorably drawing closer as she flailed in the air, limbs buffeted by wind pressure.
"And there you go," Skipper said. "Proof there's more to you than you think."
He was admiring Ruth's handiwork, what she'd spent the last few weeks painstakingly creating -- the suit of seamless white armour standing upright in the middle of the flight deck.
The Noblesse Set.
Twenty-six.
Ruth wasn't as pleased, though. She looked down at the ground shamefully, arms crossed. "It's weak," she hissed.
"Oh, absolutely," Skipper laughed, poking the Noblesse Set with his index finger and listening to the audible cracking. "One good punch and this thing would shatter like glass."
Twenty-seven.
"So it's trash," Ruth grumbled. "A waste of time. I told you this was a bad idea from the start."
"A bad idea?" Skipper turned back to Ruth, frowning as if the notion was obviously absurd. "Trash? How do you mean?"
"You said it yourself, it's --"
Twenty-eight.
"Fragile, yeah -- and it takes about thirty seconds to regenerate -- but that's the beauty of it, too. All the force that hits the thing goes right back to the thing that hit it. There's not a person in the world that's getting a second punch in."
Twenty-nine. The ground was so very close now, welcoming her.
"The Noblesse Set can be destroyed, sure," Skipper grinned. "But it can't ever be defeated."
Thirty.
Three things happened in a single second.
First, the Noblesse Set reappeared around Ruth's body, the light playing off its surface making it look like some kind of crystalline monster.
Second, Ruth hit the ground. The sound of shattering glass rang out as the Noblesse Set encasing her body broke apart, white light flooding from the cracks.
Third, the rebound.
All the force generated by Ruth's long fall and impact against the ground was reflected, sending her flying right back up in a shower of bright white light. A springboard born of retaliation.
As Ruth flew up, her eyes were fixed in determination -- and a second later, they were covered up by the metal mask of her Skeletal Set. Steel claws protruded from her hands and feet, strips of iron encased her torso like an extra ribcage, and her hair flared backwards -- glowing like an inferno.
The Noblesse Set, something that she’d created rather than destroyed, was proof there was more to her than a petty killer.
But the Skeletal Set was proof that part of her was very, very good at being a petty killer.
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The spectre's grip relaxed slightly -- surprise from the bright light, probably -- and in that moment, Dragan retaliated. He slammed his Aether-infused foot into the spectre's stomach, forcing it to let go as the air was pushed out of its lungs. Then, he jumped backwards, putting as much distance as he could between himself and the enemy.
That still wouldn't be enough -- Dragan was painfully aware of that. This thing was nightmare fast; disengaging from the fight simply wasn't practical. It was kill or be killed.
On the other side of the roof, Ruth landed on one knee, sparks of red Aether orbiting around her. Her gaze snapped up to regard the spectre, her eyes narrowing.
Behind the spectre, Dragan plucked one of the fallen throwing knives from the ground and held it forward, his own eyes fixed on where the spectre's jugular would logically be. He was weak, he knew that, so his only hope was to win in a weak way.
There was murder in the air.
"I see," the spectre chuckled. "The final round, hm?"
Things proceeded naturally from there.