"You Victorian piece of filth... you dirty *Taran-slur*..."
Mandragora was practically hyperventilating with rage, her bright red eyes locked onto Jeanne as if trying to rip the golden-haired girl to shreds with her bare gaze.
Every breath sent a stabbing pain straight through her chest and ribs. She wasn't sure if her internal organs were ruptured from that horrifying fist, but one thing was dead certain: she couldn't take another hit like that. One more punch, and if she didn't die outright, she'd be broken beyond repair.
"What are you useless fools just standing around for?!" Mandragora turned her head and shrieked at the figures behind her. "Get over here and help! You think if I kick the bucket, you'll just waltz into my position? You absolute brainless idiots!"
Standing back were the six newly recruited squad leaders—including their so-called Immolator and Toxicologist—along with a dense line of Dublinn troops. They had all been standing at a distance, paralyzed by the sheer absurdity of watching their terrifying commander get swatted like a fly.
The Toxicologist hurried forward under her screams, giving Mandragora a brief, hasty examination. "Your ribs are definitely cracked, maybe shattered. I can't tell without proper medical gear, but you shouldn't be fighting."
Of course, the Toxicologist was keeping his true thoughts to himself. He wished this arrogant favorite of the Leader would drop dead right here. With her out of the picture, wouldn't the top spot in the command chain finally open up for him?
"Do you really think surrounding me gives you an advantage?" Jeanne looked at the approaching squad leaders, a casual smile resting on her face. "If you want to take me down, you're going to need a lot more than a few low-level thugs."
Having traded blows with Ursus's elite Emperor's Blades, facing a few back-alley operatives didn't even register as a threat to her.
"Brave words for a girl about to be overwhelmed," the operative known as the Conspirator taunted, trying to probe for a opening while subtly backing away. None of them were foolish enough to step into melee range with someone who broke stone constructs with her bare hands.
BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!
Before anyone could move, four ear-splitting gunshots tore through the air.
Four of the six squad leaders crumpled to the cobblestones simultaneously, their heads punctured cleanly by heavy etched bullets. Blood and brain matter spilled across the ground before their bodies even hit the pavement.
"Well, if we're balancing the command structure, now it's a fair two-on-two, isn't it?"
BANG!
A fifth shot rang out, taking down a fifth operative before the weapon was smoothly holstered.
Outcast stepped out from the shadowy alley, standing side by side with Jeanne. She had removed her Rhodes Island tactical jacket, wearing simple civilian clothing beneath.
"You really shouldn't have gotten involved," Jeanne said, surprised to see her friend appearing out of nowhere. "This might cause diplomatic trouble for your organization."
"That's precisely why I took off the uniform," Outcast replied with a warm, easy smile, patting her shoulder. "Right now, I'm just an ordinary Sankta standing here in a personal capacity. And no Sankta worth her salt sits back while a friend gets cornered."
She raised her firearm once more, firing five rapid shots that dropped five charging Dublinn troops in quick succession.
The surrounding Dublinn troops recoiled in sheer panic. This random Sankta who had appeared out of thin air was a nightmare—every single bullet found a lethal mark with terrifying precision. If she had enough ammunition, she could wipe out their entire force single-handedly!
"Why are you falling back?!" Mandragora screamed, her voice cracking with fury. "Keep pushing! She's only one Sankta! Her ammo is limited! If you retreat, you'll die even faster!"
Desperate to turn the tide, Mandragora forced her Arts to flare up once more. Crushed stone and sand swept upward, wrapping her in a levitating defensive shell while summoning two giant, grotesque stone statues to her side.
"Hmm? Now that's interesting," Outcast murmured, her eyes narrowing as she observed the newly raised constructs.
"Is there something special about them?" Jeanne asked, casting a curious glance at the massive figures. To her, they just looked like slightly lumpier versions of Mudrock's golems—and nowhere near as durable.
"If I'm not mistaken, the design of those statues is modeled after Gargoyles," Outcast explained quietly. "One of the ancient Teekaz Court factions. But the Gargoyles, much like the Agniers, were supposed to have gone extinct centuries ago. For her to shape her Arts like that, she must have seen a preserved gargoyle specimen somewhere."
"A Gargoyle, huh?" Jeanne didn't waste another second overthinking it. As the stone behemoth lunged at her, she stepped into its path and drove her fist straight through its midsection.
CRACK-SHATTER!
The construct exploded into pulverized dust, completely stripped of any chance to regenerate.
Mandragora nearly lost her mind at the sight. How was anyone supposed to fight this monster?!
Melee combat was instant death. Ranged harassment was useless without heavy vanguard troops to absorb damage. And to make matters worse, a master Sankta marksman was hovering on the flank, ready to pick her off the second her concentration slipped.
She glanced frantically toward the center of the district, hoping their Leader could turn the tide.
Instead, all she saw was a terrifying wall of roaring red flame consuming the skyline. Their Leader was currently being pressed back on all fronts by Talulah's awakened dragonfire.
Whether in Arts mastery or overall tactical positioning, Dublinn's forces were completely unraveling.
The question was no longer how to win—it was whether any of them would survive to make it out of County Hillock alive.