Headed by a Snake

Zashleigh flipped backward, hitting the ground a bit hard with her already bloodied knee, but she wasn't done yet. Priming Beithir Blaster, she thrust it forward to cast another ⌈Lightning Bolt⌋.

The Princess deflected the attack with her sword, which was, disappointingly, not ornamental in nature. Jagged tendrils of lightning magic rolled across the ground, splitting the crowd in half as people dove out of the way.

Zash kept her momentum, grabbing onto her staff with both hands and spinning around to smash its lower end into the Princess' thigh.

Princess Cass-whatever-the-f*ck responded with a masculine grunt and a reckless swing of ⌈Green Flame Blade⌋. Zash was able to block that, though, and she also scored a clean hit on the Princess' sword-arm.

Unfortunately, Bracelet Bitch was also a Medusa. Her hair shot forward, so Zash had to bring her staff up to defend.

AND also, most obviously, the Free Nation Princess was still a f*cking Caster, which was blatantly unfair.

She brought her uninjured arm forward, made four quick hand gestures, and extended her pointer finger.

"This ends *now,*" she said.

She fired another ⌈Wind Bullet⌋. Considering the intimate distance, an ordinary Witch would have probably died.

But Zash was not that.

The Spell barely left the Princess' hand when Zash caught it with ⌈Spellbreak⌋. The force of the miniature explosion sent her Witch hat flying, but more importantly, Cassiopeia's face went from an arrogant sneer to a look of shock and horror.

That felt good-- but not as good as immediately after, when Zash punched the stupid b*tch in her stupid f*cking face.

"My name Zashleigh Yates!" she yelled, "Flight leader of Zeta Squad!! Spellbreaker, SPECIAL CLASS!!"

"RARRRRGHHH!!!"

The teenage Princess dropped her royal act, screaming like a feral child-- which admittedly, was absolutely f*cking terrifying.

She began firing close-distance ⌈Wind Bullet⌋ after ⌈Wind Bullet⌋, but Zashleigh's analysis of the Princess' favored Spell had long been complete. Each cast, she was able to ⌈Spellbreak⌋ with greater and greater ease.

Finally, the Princess held her hand out-- but the Spell fizzled out at the tip of her finger. Still in a rage, she charged her sword with magic and swung, but Zash was able to strike her wrist hard enough to make her drop it.

"Looks like you're out of ammo, Princess," Zash mocked.

She landed a solid, immensely satisfying punch to the Princess' gut, forcing her to stagger backward.

"I may be out of Spell slots," Cassiopeia spat, "but I'm not out of options!"

Zash narrowed her eyes.

...She wondered just how long the Princess' eyes had been blue.

And about the same time, she realized she had royally f*cked up.

The War Princess was walking toward her-- but Zash felt like her legs had frozen in place.

She took an egregiously telegraphed punch to the chin, dazing her. Following that was a second, stronger fist to her left eye.

Zash couldn't feel the tips of her fingers-- and the rest of her body didn't seem to want to move, either.

Then... she got punched in the boobs, which hurt like a b*tch.

Zash found her back to the ground, looking up at the sky.

The Princess stomped onto her stomach, then pressed the bottom of her filthy sandal against her face.

"You *dare* sssstrike Free Nation royalty?" the snake-girl hissed. "Have. you. no. feaRR??"

Zash kept her teeth clenched to prevent biting her tongue.

"Zeta Squad," she growled, "isn't *allowed* to show fear!"

Cassiopeia dropped her knee into Zash's gut, taking the wind out of her.

Then the War Princess mounted her, grabbing the sides of her face with both hands.

"Look into my eyes, b*tch. And have fun being turned into stone for the rest of your short, miserable--"

"Stop there, if you would."

...

Tycondrius lamented the unfair nature of the Realm.

Ashby Yates was a Gold-Rank human Spellbreaker.

Cass was an Iron-Rank Medusa.

However, despite the difference, the Witchling was sorely beaten by the time he arrived.

Tycon secured his grip on his younger sister by the back of her armor's collar, lifting her up. He then deposited her so he stood between her and the grounded Ashby.

"B-brother?" Cass exclaimed, "You're here!"

Her voice was high-pitched and... irreverent.

"Ah, yes," Tycon smiled politely. "That is correct."

He thought that was rather obvious. But instead of wasting his time reading the situation, he felt the need to stop the quickly-spreading ⌈Petrification⌋ magic affecting the leader of Zeta Squad.

Thus, Tycon knelt down... and retrieved the Witch's staff, stealthily placing it into his spatial ring.

He thought it shameful that one of Bella's trained professionals had relinquished her weapon in combat. (He would have taken Cass' sword as well, but she had already recovered it and returned it to its sheath.)

Tycon then... secured his grip on Ashby by the front of her armor's collar, lifting her up. He brought her hands up to his mouth, allowing his enchanted breath to wash over her stony fingers.

That light touch of magic would then spread through her magic circuits, cleansing the rest of her body.

The breath of a Maedar counteracted a female Medusa's ⌈Petrification⌋.

In ancient times, it was an effective system to prevent meat from spoiling.

In modern suns, people used ice-boxes and preservation techniques instead-- methods overall superior. A person's breath carried hints of saliva, and Tycon imagined that Maedar in the past did not value oral hygiene as much as he did.

"That's... twice you've saved me," Ashby said in a small voice.

"I try not to keep count," Tycon smirked. "It's unbecoming."

It was the third time.

"Withdraw," he said in a firm voice.

"But--"

"That is an order."

Ashby frowned, gulping audibly. But she nodded in the affirmative, "Yes, Commander."

The Witchling scampered way to the safety of her Zeta Squad companions, Jessica and Coraline. They looked ready to join the fight, one shrouded by a smoky veil, the other literally aflame.

Tycon waved his hand to shoo them away. His sister was a dangerous individual, but he was confident he could handle her.

"You... dArE turn your back on me, Brother."

Promptly spinning on his heel, Tycon turned to face War Princess Cassiopeia.

She was drinking from a familiar bottle, a mana restoration potion produced by the East Charm Trading Company.

He felt a surge of pride from his sister's advocation of one of his businesses.

He was going to thank her-- but he noticed that her eyes were a dark, lustrous blue.

She had undimmed her vision.

That was odd. Surely, Cass must have known that he'd be unaffected by her ⌈Petrifying Gaze⌋.

But perhaps... she was just excited to see him?

"Ah, I'll take the bottle when you're finished," Tycon said. "Those are expensive."

Cass forcefully threw the bottle to the ground, shattering it.

That was quite rude of her.

Then she shot off what Tycon identified as a modified ⌈Mana Bullet⌋.

He found that even more rude, as it was aimed directly at him.

"Hmph," Tycon released his aura, the force of will enough to dissipate the Spell.

His sister then lifted her arms to the side before pushing her palms forward, locked at the wrist.

"⌈Rending CYCLONE!!⌋"

Her casting speed was impressive, but thankfully, Tycon was familiar with both the Spell and his sister's casting style. He was able to cut through the mana-empowered winds with the edge of a knife-hand... though doing so was significantly more taxing than he estimated.

The bottom half of his hand ached terribly.

Tycon sincerely hoped that his sister wasn't going to demonstrate her entire Spell list. Despite her Rank, the speed and strength of her wind magic made her Spells more dangerous than those of a higher-circle Caster.

...and if she decided to begin double or twin-casting, he'd quickly become disadvantaged.

He had already dismissed Bella's Spellbreaker. It would hurt his pride to flee and hide behind a woman he'd rescued only a minute prior.

Tycon noticed that Cass was crying. Seeing a family member cry introduced a dull ache of guilt in his spirit.

He made women cry by his mere presence, alone. As often as it happened, though, he felt he'd never grow accustomed to it.

Thankfully, those tears did not strengthen her magic. She cast another ⌈Mana Bullet⌋, slower and weaker than the first. Tycon stopped it with his palm, crushing the projectile into mana dust.

Cass slowly raised her head. She looked upset-- and the ugly tears did her no favors.

"The *Witch*... she told me you fought an entire company by yourself."

"Indeed," Tycon nodded. " I emerged victorious."

"But... why?" Cass sniffed, "Why would you risk yourself on *her* behalf?"

Was that why she was upset? If so, that could be resolved simply enough; it was a misunderstanding. Tycon was afraid his sister's reasoning was similar to Bella's-- that he'd murdered the lot of them.

Cass began walking toward him-- which was a worrisome development.

He had a very small amount of time to comprehend the situation. And he knew damn well that his social intelligence was abysmal.

But... Cass was direct family. He hoped... that... perhaps... physical, familial affection was appropriate?

And so, Tycon opened his arms, tacitly signaling for an amicable embrace?

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