Familiar foes.

Isaac entered the main cabaret to chaos. The few patrons and staff were in full defense, hiding behind upturned tables, curtains, the bar, anywhere they could find cover. Already, Arthus was in full combat, blade swinging and every light on its body glowing blue with a purple center.

The foe in question was a squad of six armored figures, some in leathers, some in plate, some in chain. All of them had familiar, burning, glowing blue eyes and they moved in perfect sync.

“Master Wells!” Arthus greeted, lifting the rotary gun on his arm. It was already spinning up. “Casualty-limiting protocols have been suppressed. These fine men are possessed by a spirit and are trying to kill. Please help me stop them.”

Isaac didn’t wait too long, already lifting the Wraithrider. He fired off a projectile, a concentrated lance of lavender light that shattered apart a small area of chainmail on his target. That drew their attention to him, and the real fight started.

Isaac mainly launched focused attacks, breaking apart or slicing into armor. He dodged arrows and swords, but was slowly being pushed into a corner. The foes were supernaturally strong and organized, working in perfect harmony to strike out at Isaac and Arthus. Isaac was managing to dodge or deflect, but he couldn’t strike back as fast. Arthus fought on the other side of the room, not moving but taking more hits. It was durable, as a machine, but its hail of shining bullets was dealing more damage - to both the assailants and the establishment.

Then one of the plate-armored foes got a lucky strike. He jammed his longsword into the mechanism of Arthus’s rotary cannon, slipping between two barrels and stopping the rotation as well as interrupting the feed of ammunition. Arthus let out a loud, sudden “Bitch!” and used the now-ineffective firearm to hit the man across the face. The assailant went down hard, **** and eyes no longer glowing.

Distracted, Isaac received a gash from a thrusting shortsword. He whipped out the Wraithrider, grabbing the figure that had wounded him by the throat. The gauntlet glowed bright purple, chasing away the storm-blue in his attacker’s eyes to be replaced with lavender. They turned stiffly, starting to fight their own.

Isaac surged forward, taking in the battlefield again.

He spotted Graham, creeping toward Tempest’s side room, something clutched in a fist.

Arthus, hammering a fist again and again into an already-downed foe while weathering blows from two more on his back and head.

And Vanya, hand raised and glowing white, with the last figure creeping toward her. She was shaking, eyes wide, not moving even as she stared down the blade in his hand.

Isaac ran to help Vanya, whipping out a glowing chain to wrap around her attacker’s ankle. He pulled, dropping the possessed man to the ground. Vanya blinked, then flourished her hand and her dress was replaced with sleek, form-fitting armor made of white marble and silver. Her armor covered her body except her head, her wings spread wide behind and a banner displaying a crescent moon hanging down from her waist. She knelt and grabbed the man by the head, a white glow burning out through his eyes until he went limp.

There was a wet stabbing sound and a crack of bone against metal, then the room fell silent.

Isaac put a hand to his wound and surveyed the room again. Arthus retracted the now-bloodied blade and shook out its fist, then pulled the sword from its rotary cannon. There were four bodies at its feet, all dead or ****. The one with purple in his eyes faltered, then fell limp as well. The one at Vanya’s feet was breathing, alive, but also down for the count.

Vanya was already placing her hand on Isaac’s wound, her palm glowing white-gold. The wound slowly began to seal, leaving a bloodstain on his shirt and a red smear on her pristine white gauntlet, but the wound was gone.

Vanya’s eyes met Isaac’s. They stood inches from each other, her hand still resting on his side where he was hit. Her brows were drawn together in concern.

“Are you okay?” Isaac asked.

“Better than you,” Vanya replied with a tiny laugh.

“That’s good,” Isaac said, his gauntleted hand landing on her hip.

There were a few more beats of silence, before Vanya dipped her head slightly and her lips met Isaac’s. Her lips tasted like fruit. Her kiss was warm, soft, gentle. When she pulled away, she looked bashful.

“That was…” Isaac was at a loss for words, mind reeling as he tried to process the emotional whiplash from a lazy morning, to a violent attack, to her mouth on his.

“Sorry, I don’t usually do that.” Vanya laughed softly, blushing. “I haven’t kissed someone like that in-”

Isaac kissed her again and she let out a happy, if surprised, sound. She hummed against his lips. He only pulled away when he heard slow clapping.

Looking to the source of the clapping, he found Tempest. She was slowly emerging from her room, slithering on her long snake-like tail with Graham at her side and a gnarled black staff in the crook of her arm. “It seems my sweet, withdrawn daughter has found someone at long last,” Tempest said, smiling.

Vanya blushed harder, covering her face with her hands. “Mother…”

“We can talk about this after I clean up.” Tempest lifted the staff and a sea-green glimmer glowed at the peak of the blackened wood. She tapped the staff on the ground and that green light spilled out over the room. The defeated figures glowed and blinked out, appearing in a heap on the road outside of the still-open door. The door slammed shut. “And stay out,” Tempest said as the cabaret began to right itself, damage mending and furniture returning to its position. The few people in the room began to carefully rise from their hiding places.

Arthus made a sound like sighing and scraped its metal fingers over its similarly metal forehead. “Subroutines writing and rewriting a-as I walk… very disconcerting…”

Tempest swept the staff one last time, this time with no magic. “Dear patrons, I apologize for this disturbance! Any food, drink, or services you have requested will be on the house. Please speak to Graham about that. If you wish to leave, I suggest you do so soon.” Her eyes landed on Isaac. “Isaac, Arthus, and Vanya. My room, please.”

She turned and slithered back into her room, so Isaac followed.