There was a surreal moment of silence in the hall as everyone assessed the loyalties of these new intrusions. Then Vincent flicked his gun up, aiming at Red, set to shoot.

Stretch slammed the gun aside just as a beam of light burst from its barrel. It pierced through the air in a second, popping silently into white sparks against the ceiling, and as if having waited for this signal the room once again descended into chaotic gunfire.

Roman's crewmen were few now, only four left to stand against the enemy goons, but thankfully those enemy goons were anything but united and shot at each other just as much. That gave Roman's people enough leeway to steer themselves over to their leader, surrounding the man while they crouched behind cover and shot at the rest of the room. Meanwhile, Vincent kicked Stretch away. Both of them took the opportunity to scramble to safety in different directions, the former sliding behind an ornate cabinet while the latter half-crawled toward Red.

"Nice entrance," Red said to him. "I'll give it a solid seven outta ten."

Hands held out, the boy blocked a full flank of Roman's forces with an invisible barrier, and Stretch watched the Trick with genuine surprise. He'd known how it would work after several hours of practice, had seen it work just some minutes before at the circular stairway, but it was different now under truly heavy fire. Each bullet that struck it seemed to bounce off something round, redirected away like a speeding magnet might swerve away from a larger stationary one.

Suddenly, Red clapped his hands and twisted, throwing up his invisible shield in another direction. Stretch turned to see Vincent peeking out from cover, gun aimed for them once again, and at this his own much less impressive instincts thankfully kicked in. He grabbed a small piece of wood from the floor—surrounded as they were by the clutter of an increasingly destroyed mansion it wasn't hard to find one—and managed to hold it up in front of Red's face just as a beam of light crossed the room and stabbed right through the boy's Trick. The beam slapped harmlessly against the wood leaving nothing but the fading mist of its own light and a very confused Ranger.

"Your Trick won't block that thing," Stretch said. He tried getting properly to his feet as he spoke, but it took far too much effort with his back and hand still paralyzed. "Think, man! Your Trick's made up of Spirit, and that Talisman can shoot right through Spirit. The only way to stop it is with solid matter!"

"That's way too complicated!" Red said, clapping his hands again.

This time he activated his Trick by sweeping his hand through the air, pushing sideways as if wading hard through water. At the same time, the cabinet Vincent hid behind suddenly flew off in the same direction, tossed into the air and crashing against the opposite wall in an explosion of splinters and glass.

Vincent, still crouching, now found himself defenseless, blinking over at where his cover had been in muted surprise. Then, seeing Red clap hands again and punch forward, the man rolled out of the way just in time to avoid the giant hole that got blown in the wall behind him.

Stretch played audience to the whole encounter. Remote Control, Red called it. Shaking his head, Stretch remembered how the Trick had been explained to him. It's like there's another me, the boy had said. I'm there and here at the same time. Not force emission like they'd planned, but instead a sort of Spirit self, a malleable puppet who could be conjured at a distance and be made to move as he did.

Once again, Stretch couldn't help wondering where Red had come from, how he could have such intuitive talent despite a clear lack of knowledge or training. It was enough to almost make Stretch jealous, though being in the middle of a giant gunfight did much to temper such feelings.

Standing just behind them, Roman seemed to share those worries. "We need to keep moving," the man said. "Onto the library before anyone else finds their way there."

It was a valid worry, seeing as apparently this battle even now stretched further and further into the mansion. Their plan wouldn't work if they reached their destination and found only another skirmish waiting for them.

"Where's Hound?" Stretch asked. "The whole point is to lead him there, right?"

As if in answer, a grenade rolled out of a nearby door like a slow bowling ball, coming to a stop at the center of the fight. Stretch yelped along with Roman and the rest. Even Vincent and the enemy crews flinched at seeing it, all of them lunging for cover or throwing themselves to the floor with hands clasped behind their heads.

But this time Red was ready. He clapped his hands and held them out, forming a wall with the body of his other self, molding it to stand wide and upright just as the grenade exploded. A wave of shrapnel railed against him, and while Red couldn't feel the pain of its impact he could sense its presence crashing against him somehow, like a million imagined pinpricks.

None of it broke through, either diverted as bullets were or blocked altogether, but Red didn't have much time to enjoy that achievement as Hound took the opportunity to run out. The man's armor still showed a dent where Red had punched him—or rather, where his Spirit had punched him. It had clearly taken its toll too, some blood trailing down Hound's lips. He had no Trick, Kitty had said. Just years of backbreaking training and a mind shaped for the sole purpose of killing his assigned targets.

That mind is what kept Hound focused. His dual guns swerved left and right to shoot at the others as they recovered from the explosion, but all the while he kept his eyes on Red, pools of darkness narrowed with murderous intent. The promise of death rang from every shot fired and every step taken in his mad dash across the room.

No one had to tell them to run. As once, Roman, Stretch, and Red all turned heel and escaped down the hall with not a single word spoken. The crewmen stayed behind, trying to keep Hound from following, but one died in the process and the rest were soon pinned down by the revitalized gunfire of the other goons.

"You must've made him angry," Roman said.

Red clapped his hands and threw a hand behind them, blocking the bullets that followed. "I regret nothing!"

Stretch had to use his Trick to keep up, legs extending and shortening with each step. He gasped every few seconds, feeling the weakness of his back. "Hey man, didn't you get the Spirit shot out of your arm? If you figured out how to fix that, I could use some pointers."

With Hound shooting behind them, Red fumbled through his words, too distracted for much else. "It's like a dam! Just... Push through with Spirit!"

Stretch frowned, trying not to pay too much attention to the sounds of violence all around them or the sight of all the ornamentation getting shredded to pieces as they passed. He found his Spirit easy enough, having had plenty of practice by now, and he even found the dam Red spoke of. More like two dams, for his hand and back, places where his Spirit seemed to just stop with unnatural abruptness.

He leaned on Red's metaphor and imagined his Spirit like great waves crashing on each barrier. Pressure emanated off him enough that even Roman seemed to notice, turning to look at him with wary eyes. His Spirit churned, flowing like a whirlpool and pounding against those walls with as much force as he could muster, trying to flow over to the other side.

And it didn't work. Teeth gritting as they ran, Stretch kept trying, sweat soaking through his shirt at the effort, but no amount of strain could let his Spirit break through. There simply wasn't enough of it to get over the dam.

"I can't," Stretch heaved. "It's gotta be... your crazy Spirit, man. Mine's just too weak."

A hard thing to admit, but Stretch could see no other reason. If anything made Red different, it was the insane amount of Spirit the boy held within him. His breaking out of the effect Vincent's Moonshooter caused had to be due to some kind of freak genetic accident.

But still, Red was years younger than him and had only been a Ranger for just about two weeks besides. The boy had taken everything Stretch had taught him and then managed to surpass him in no time at all. Running as he was now, muscles growing taut around the numb spots in his Spirit, Stretch couldn't help seeing it as a failure on his part.

"Don't worry about it," Red said, hand held out behind him. The shield he cast followed right behind him, blocking every one of Hound's shots. "I can deal with this guy just fine now. But where is this stupid library?"

"Not far," Roman said, breathless. He might've been fit enough for a normal man, but his endurance was beginning to run out. "Just a few more rooms."

A different sort of shot came for them then. Stretch saw it from the corner of his eye while Red cursed and clapped his hands. With a swipe of his hand Red dug into the wall and broke off a whole portion, tossing debris in the way just before the beam of light could reach them. The beam must've hit some portion of broken wood or plaster, fading to nothing, and as the debris settled Stretch found Vincent running their way behind it.

Stretch watched horrified as the Enforcer ran right beside Hound, for a second thinking that the two had come to some kind of accord. But then both aimed point blank at each other, throwing themselves forward to dodge, fighting among themselves even as they sprinted after their shared quarry.

"Well, at least they don't like each other any more than they like us," Roman said.

Things went on like that up until they reached the library. Red, Roman, and Stretch ran through the doors, the former two looking back at the gunmen fighting right behind them while the latter glanced around the room.

A large circular space, its ceiling high with walls completely covered in bookshelves. The few windows were all up near the top, peeking over the books high enough that it would take one of the many ladders in place to reach them. More bookshelves spanned the center of the room, all laid out in a circular row surrounding a parallel pair of long tables.

The place was musty, filled with dull light and a heavy, still air that smelled like old paper. It would've been unpleasant, but the sheer scale made it strangely reverent, like walking into an ancient tomb. Say what you want about the Leóns, Stretch thought, but they sure liked to read. That or it had been some kind of status thing.

Unfortunately, Vincent and Hound soon ruined the mood, entering in an uncontrolled hurricane of light and noise. Countless books immediately exploded into puffs of raining pages, and it was all loud enough to distract them from the sound of the doors shutting tight behind them.

Glancing sideways, Stretch saw Roman's nod. Their people had done well, hiding in wait for just the right moment. Large as the library was, it only had one pair of exits, and if Donny had gotten everything ready then the same people who closed those doors would now be barricading them with everything they could get their hands on.

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Hound was the first one to notice something strange. He looked back at the shut doors, then over at a now grinning Red. "A trap," he determined, seeing through the plan at once.

Well, Red figured it didn't matter now that he'd fallen for it. "Yep, it's a trap." He threw Roman a glance. "You better go before you get left at the altar, dude."

Roman nodded, but his eyes went to Vincent. "And what about the... cowboy?"

"I'll keep him here." Red shrugged. "The more the merrier, I guess."

Vincent watched them talk, brow furrowed. "Hey, wait just a minute..."

"If it gets too much for you, just run," Stretch said, grabbing Roman by the arm and pulling him to the only other door out of the place.

Red didn't respond, but then again he didn't need to; Stretch knew running was just about the last thing the boy would want to do after having done it the whole battle so far. Part of why he'd agreed so enthusiastically to this plan was because he'd been promised this would be the part where he'd be allowed to let loose.

So he and Roman ran for the exit, hearing the sound of Hound's guns breaking out behind them and trusting that Red would keep them safe from it as they crossed the room. When they crossed those doors and met Roman's crewmen outside—poised to barricade this side as much as the other one had been—both blew out a long sigh of relief.

Jogging now, Roman looked at Stretch then, eyes growing heavy. "Are we sure about this? Leaving him alone in there?"

Stretch tried for a smile. Though by now the stiffness of his back was becoming rather painful, the thought of what they'd left behind did make him feel better. "I'm not sure about a lot of the stuff we've been doing all week, man. But leaving Red in there? That's one thing I am super sure about."

"I just wish we could've found some way other than trapping him in there with those two."

"Roman, my man, that's where you're wrong. It's those two who're trapped in there with him."

Back at the library, Red, Vincent, and Hound all stood gauging each other at the center of the room. The latter two had tried running to the exit after the others, but Red had only needed to hold them back for a few seconds while the exit closed up. Even now they could all hear the sounds of piling furniture as people worked outside both sets of doors to lock them inside.

"Kid, I don't know what the hell you people were thinkin'," Vincent said, eyeing Red and Hound in equal measure. "But this has gotta be the stupidest damn situation I've ever seen someone else put themselves in. You sure you don't wanna follow your lil' friends?"

"And miss out on kicking your ass?" Red set his gaze on the man. "You pissed me off a little before, but I'm glad you're here, cowboy. Makes things even more exciting!"

"Ah, so you're just insane then. Well." Vincent sighed, spun his silver gun around his finger, and set it against his hip in a ready position. "Neither of y'all are on my shit list, but if yer gonna keep gettin' in my way I guess I've got no choice but to deal with ya first."

"Agreed," Hound said, face set in a deep scowl. He racked the slides of his dual guns by pushing them against each other, a move that would've probably looked ridiculous if it hadn't come so practiced. "I'm tired of your tricks. If Mouse wants to keep hiding behind her allies, I'll just kill them all."

Red put his hands together, feeling his Spirit spike. That feeling was back, that tingling in his skin he'd craved ever since the World Tree. Another fight, another test, another chance he'd wind up dead. He breathed in, letting himself fall into that deep sense of presence. The past didn't matter, and neither did the future. The only thing that mattered—the only thing that existed—was the here and now.

Could there ever be anything better than this?

"It's my first three-way showdown," Red said, grinning. "You guys better make it good."

- - - — MKII — - - -

Kitty had to carry her Roman the rest of the way. She'd thrown him over her shoulder, and while the weight of a full-grown man wasn't much for her Boosted strength, having him there had taken its effect on her mobility. Owl had stayed hidden the whole way, shadow needles stitching through the air, constantly threatening to stab into Roman and constantly kept from doing so by a timely twist or lunge on Kitty's part. Most had missed entirely, but enough had nicked Kitty to leave her dripping blood all over. All small injuries, but they piled on.

So it was with a relieved sigh that Kitty reached the ballroom, slamming the doors open and dashing right in. It wasn't a large space—this was supposed to be a private area, intended for smaller gatherings between close family and friends, and like the library it only had two exits; the one they'd come in from, and another one across the room.

The big ballroom—because, yes, the Leóns had built two—could be found below on the ground floor, pretty and decorated for the wedding reception. This one, by contrast, was entirely empty save for the row of indiscernible black boxes that stretched all along its walls. That and the big disco ball hanging from the ceiling at its center, glittering in the room's light.

"This is where I leave you," Kitty said, throwing Roman down. The man splayed on the floor beside her with a shaky breath. "Get up quick. She'll be right behind."

"R-Right," Roman said, getting to his feet. "Er, by the way, can we not bring up the whole 'getting carried by a little girl' thing when we meet back up with the others?"

"Just remember the lights." Kitty held her knife at the ready, glancing around the room. They'd closed the doors behind them, but Owl would be here already, surely. Watching from the shadows.

Roman ran for the door at the other end of the room, an exit that would take him down a set of stairs and out to the garden. He'd get the lights on the way, then—

Not two steps in, shadows stretched up from Roman's feet and wrapped around him, locking his arms behind his back. Gasping, the man fell forward right on his face, ankles tied by knots of darkness, and when Kitty stepped forward to help she saw Owl pop out from those same binds, body forming in a shifting mass. The other girl knelt there, gray and stoic eyes narrowed on Kitty's black ones, knife to Roman's throat, almost daring her to act.

So she did. Kitty forced her Spirit to rise, surging, imagined its shape as a dial and, hand raised, her fingers snapped. This time, no sonic wave rippled through the air, no boom blew out the curtained windows, no ear-splitting ring exploded from her hand. Rather, she took that sound, grabbed it like a rampaging bull, and threw all of it right at Owl.

But Owl did not flinch.

Blinking, Kitty watched Owl just kneel there over a bound Roman, staring back at her with the expression of a corpse. As if on cue, Owl turned her head and showed Kitty her ears, now filled with a set of gray plugs.

"Last time, I didn't know to prepare for you," Owl said, voice lonely in the silent room. "Now I knew you'd be waiting. Did you think I wouldn't take precautions?"

Kitty thought about saying that yes, she had figured Owl and Hound would come up with something like this, but seeing as the other girl was momentarily deaf it seemed like a waste of words. Instead she glared down at the shadow bindings that held Roman in place; strangely solid but completely unreflective, like ropes made from the void. The needles she'd known about, but this?

Noticing her gaze, Owl hummed. "Surprised? I haven't wasted all these years, Mouse. Maybe you didn't get any stronger, but I did." Her round face took on a tight hardness. "I had to."

There was something wrong here. Something Kitty was missing. Why hadn't Owl shown these new abilities before? There had been plenty of opportunities.

Before she could think on it too long, Owl raised her knife, set to stab it down, eyes on Kitty as if daring her to do something. Glare deepening, Kitty shoved aside her worries, focusing on the now. She had to get those two apart, had to set the lights and spring the trap, but without her Trick she couldn't help Roman without risking retaliation.

So... maybe he could help himself? "Listen to me!" she said, not to Owl but to the man struggling beside her. "Change back, Donny! Trust me, just change back!"

The man kept struggling, arms and legs straining against their shadow bindings, but her words did reach him. Owl just stared, head tilted in confusion—she hadn't been able to hear, though she'd seen Kitty say something. Then, beside her, she saw the Roman she'd bound suddenly transform, his body expanding and his skin growing pale.

It distracted Owl for long enough that Kitty managed to lunge at her before she could drive her knife down. The two fell in a heap, both wrestling for the knife, and in the meantime Donny felt the shadows that constricted him lose their strength and seep back to the floor.

He scrambled to his feet, heart pounding, and saw Kitty pinned to the ground, Owl right over her, pushing away the knife pressing down toward her face. Donny made to go help, gulping down his fear, but Kitty flicked her eyes toward him with a look that locked him into place.

"Go!" she said. "Now! And remember the lights!"

Hesitating only a second, Donny nodded and ran for the door. Owl glanced at him as he went, but didn't make to follow—it turned out he hadn't been her target after all, so what would be the point?

"I'm surprised," she said, voice low. "The real one's with that friend of yours, isn't he? I didn't think you'd trust anyone else to do your job for you."

Kitty grunted and, finding some leverage, kicked out to push the other girl away. They both rolled to their feet at the same time, knives out at the ready, and Kitty already knew what Owl planned. With her Trick nullified, Kitty had to get in close, something that would work to Owl's advantage. The other girl would fall into Kitty's shadow, lie there in wait, and kill her the moment she let her guard down.

So, fine. Kitty gave Owl what she wanted.

As she stepped in, she saw Owl's face shift. Her mask of indifference, more impressive even than Kitty's now seemed tinged with a hint of pleasure. They locked blades, and as expected Kitty saw the other girl sunk to the floor, form melding into the small shadow that pooled at her feet.

Sighing, Kitty closed her eyes. Jason had taught her to hone her Spirit Sense, and now she put that training to work, settling into a peaceful tension. It was such a complete focus that she didn't even care when she felt her shadow climb up her legs and wrap around her body, binding her in a tight embrace.

She felt Owl come out, felt the other girl looking at her carefully, felt the knife set to stab her heart, but that wasn't what she was paying attention to. Instead Kitty used her sense to follow Donny, seeing the weak ember of his Spirit in her mind's eye as he ran down the adjoining hall and stopped by where they'd set the switches.

"I trust," Kitty said, eyes still closed, "and I'm trusted in turn."

She felt the words stop Owl, moving lips enough to offer a brief moment of hesitation, knife inches from her skin.

"You were wrong before," Kitty continued. "I did get stronger. Just not in any way you'd understand."

Opening her eyes, Kitty saw Owl beside her like an executioner just in time to have the lights go out and cast the whole room into darkness. She felt the shadows tighten around her, an impulsive reaction, but when no attack came Owl seemed to relax beside her.

"This only makes things easier for me," Owl said, voice coming from the nothingness. It sounded bemused.

Kitty breathed it in, forcing herself to feel this lack of sight and sound. She'd been running from this for too long. It was time to face the monster.

The next moment, the dark room exploded into light. The boxes set against the walls—spotlights—all shone up at a disco ball that spun like a dancing sun overhead. Bright white rays sparkled over every inch, circling around and around in an endless series of chaotic trajectories, as if a whole cosmos had suddenly bloomed and painted the walls, the floor, the ceiling.

The shadowy tendrils that wrapped around Kitty wavered, softened, then seemed to peel off her, shrinking back to the floor. Immediately Kitty slashed up with her knife not to hurt Owl but to drive her back.

The other girl retreated, wide eyes scanning the room, taken entirely aback. Instinctively she fell through the floor, diving into the shadows that now riddled the whole room, but only a second later she popped up again, forced back to the surface by one of the many passing beams of light. She stood there, glancing around in a controlled panic, before her eyes finally found Kitty calmly standing in front of her.

Owl might've gotten stronger, but her Trick was fundamentally the same: as long as there was light to cast a shadow, she had somewhere to hide. But she'd always still be there, somewhere in the darkness, and could only move at her own command.

All these lights, spinning this way and that, created a darkness that constantly shifted, constantly expanded and contracted without sense. Rather than try and steal Owl's shadows, Kitty needed to steal her control over them.

And now, seeing Owl's growing alarm, Kitty found herself smiling. "Now, sister," she said, letting her knife fall to the ground, "it's time for us to talk."