Sonia
Zocheiz had never grown acclimated to high-stress situations.

It felt like eons since he had stepped outside of the midst of his clinic, and his isolation had not helped any his already fragile soul; he never was one with a valiant heart, and such was why he took to the comfort of books and practical research. Even in his time on the Fourth Floor, he hadn't taken to the way of the warriors of his village, and instead buried himself in isolation and the search of knowledge. Knowledge was, of course, something that he could attain, comfortably — or, at the very least, relatively so. To pluck through the pages of a book, to practice the manipulation of a scalpel, and to sift the sensation of mana through one's fingers did not come with the tremendous danger of pursuing the honor and glory that came through trial by combat. Research had the many virtues that pursuing honor did, all without the risks. It wasn't simple, and yet it was comfortable. It wasn't dangerous, and yet it was worth something. It wasn't valorous, and yet it made him greater, smarter, better.

This familiarity with peace and solitude in the depths of a research laboratory had grown to be Zocheiz' sole comfort. As he transitioned from the Fourth Floor to the Third, from the Third looped-back to the Fifth, from the Fifth descended down to the Second, and finally from the second unto his final place of research, the First, this singular consistency was something of a pillar for his very life. It was the only thing that kept him calm and pure even in the eternal purgatory of his voluntary exile in the First Floor, and, perhaps, something that he had grown *Too* Reliant on. 

Was he bound to the clinic because others hated him? Or because he *Wanted* To stay? Was the reason for his isolation to avoid the scorn of those who found his body disgusting? Or was it because he could not tolerate the astringent cultures and decrepit state of the Exile's Watch?

Perhaps it was both.
_ _

Now, however, for the first time in months, years, decades — by the Sun, it might as well be *Millenia* — he had been forced from his recluse, and brought again to witness the terrors of hatred in exile. The culmination of a society that had spent hundreds of years separated from all external influence, forced to stew in the rot of frustration, each made to recollect for all eternity the sole failure that led up to their tumble from glory. It was now seething, bubbling, grossly before him. That terrible feeling that he could never allow himself to be overtaken by. A churning in the stomach, burning like fire that wished to be belched forth. *Hatred.* The exiles' hatred. Of Aazkue, Ukue, the Order of the Knights of Sol, the Ezer, and the very society that was the *Arue.*

Going so long without having witnessed it firsthand, it felt as though he had thrust himself back into a harsh reality entirely unprepared.

His eyes that witnessed the squalor before him went hot, and his mind which was again forced to process such cruelty panged terribly with pain wrought by sheer panic, dismay, and denial.

Zocheiz placed each of his six-digited hands to the side of his cloaked head, and could not muster a breath in the terrible world of sheer hostility around himself, his irises refusing to focus themselves on the battleground soon to be engulfed in chaos before him. He couldn't bring himself to even process Kuouo's words, much less reply to them. The calm and care of the universe around him was spiraling out of control, the peace and love within his soul blemished by the festering corruption of *Exile.* *Exile!* How little did he know of that word! *Exile!* This life was terrible! *Terrible!* ***Terrible!*** ***Aahh...!***

In the end, Zocheiz would not retreat out of a response to Kuouo's words, but out of his own fret. This world was too painful for him to perceive.
Laura
*`"V—aaz... Va."`*

Aatkei's tone peered in a rough silence, his eyes beholding in slight horror the sheer eminence of the man that manifested before him. Fallen to his back, he raised his right arm forward, and would wish to—
Chasity
```fix
"𝑩𝒆 𝒔𝒊𝒍𝒆𝒏𝒕."```

__Veit__vaazva spoke out, denying the grounded exile even a chance to further make his voice known. His presence of sheer hostility had taken the foreground, shrouding the very existences of both Kovrot and Aatkei into the backdrop of the turbulent scene laid before him. *And that was for the better.* They should remain unseen. They should remain unknown. They should remain silent. This was not a battle that either of them — indeed, even Kovrot — should, or could, fight.

*After all, undeniable justice should be brought about by nothing other than his own two hands.*

The indomitable __Veit__vaazva seethed a harsh exhale that felt more as though it were a blast of air from the nostrils of a wild beast than a breath from a typical person one-in-the-same as those that surrounded himself. He, and many within the *Ark,* Had transcended the boundaries of mere humanity through a millenia-spanning tribulation that selectively picked only the strong from the midst of the mortal's realm, and those that remained were granted the requite of mingling in the territory of *Gods.* He, __Veit__vaazva, epitomized that sheer, transcendent strength granted only to the *Blessed.* And he, __Veit__vaazva, had transcended not only the human limitations of the body, but of the *Mind,* Also.

He had sacrificed all individual ambition unto the pursuit of greater strength.
He had sacrificed again that greater strength unto the pursuit of greater intellect.
And he had again sacrificed that greater intellect unto greater judgment.

He had abandoned his humanity and taken up the godly duty as descended unto him by the Ezer.
That duty he had abandoned in his time in exile, where he would again take up humanity—
Which, now, marking thrice a time, he had again discarded.

***He would not humor them further a word as he prepared for combat.***
Margaret
*`Marvelous.`*

In the shadow of the dominant presence that the opposed Aazkue and __Veit__vaazva each individually emanated, manifested the form of the conductor of the very events transpiring at the foot of the Rise to the Second Floor. There appeared *Ve,* The mysterious man masked in white porcelain, with a familiar gleam of gold that beamed from each of his two pure eyes. With as little presence and sound as a feather gently resting atop the ground, the man made his discreet appearance on the high-ground of the flanking temporary-housings that spanned either side of the pathway before the greattower, overseeing from a slight distance the happenstance on the road beneath him.

He would smile with pleasure, if he had pleasure left within his soul to give. The delicate coordination he had built within a moment's notice was now unfurling brilliantly like the silky petals of a rose in full bloom. The man could not say that each piece fell in the exact position that he wanted them to, and neither could he say that each of their acts were directed exactly as planned; however, the denouement of this play was already clear in his sight.
Beverly
***`Hatred.`***

*`Hatred that burns hotter than the flames of individuality.`*
*`Hatred that burns stronger than the draw of one's need for unity.`*
*`Hatred that burns to consume even its own origin.`*

Aazkue never, once in his life, could understand such a thing.
And to see it now, not only displayed before his very eyes, but even directed at *Him,* Who was unknowing of why... Was surreal. Beyond the farthest of his imagination. Darker than anything he could contrive. And disturbing, to his very foundation. 

His hands that pressed against the stony path before him began to tremble as he witnessed the sheer vehemence of that deep, dark hatred, outpoured open in his sight. The guardian, at a loss for words, bit the corner of his lip, and scowled with dread. He held his breath for what felt like an eternity, his crystalline irises glittering with the wetness of trepidation and anguish. Those before him sought to kill, and were engulfed by such terrible emotion that they would not, and *Could not,* Will to speak with him. He was confused, anxious, a tad angry, and perhaps even sad, over the condition of the exiles that surrounded him, and the outsiders that protected him. The sheer frustration brought about by his lack of understanding intertwined with the shades of self-preserving anger, which were further mingled with pity, confusion, and sadness, churning into a deep and distraught sensation in his stomach that was so utterly complex that it lacked any single word to explain its nature.
_ _

Aazkue could hardly lift his hand forward to defend himself.
But the drive to guard the First Floor's peace, and to protect others...

*Still burned hot within his heart.*
*He had to help them, all of them, even if they came for his head.*

*`Vaazva, an old acquaintance...`*
*`I still remember you.`*
*`You were there. On that very day!`*
*`When our Lord had us board the Ark,`*
*`so that we might pursue eternity.`*

*`And yet...`*
*`this, the unusual you...`*
*`Is this what you have become?`*

*`No. Is this what eternity 𝒎𝒂𝒌𝒆𝒔 us become?`*

*`Or is it...`*
*`...The voice of our Lord...?`*

Unbeknownst to him, with that thought, his grip on individuality began to fade —
For the draw to *Unify* Had taken a seat of dominance in his soul.

As Aazkue lifted his left hand to begin manifesting the crimson light of the miraculous manas that outpoured the very nature of Sol unto his body — his inherited strength, right to make him worthy of the title Champion — an azure sparkle of *`lucidity`* Glittered alight, even hidden within the deepest recesses of spirit. He was beginning to recollect in slight, the memories withheld from him in his centuries-long slumber, as the revitalized root, in the absence of the fury of the Sun that burned all outwardly ties, began to sprout anew within his body.

```diff
- "𝓢𝓽𝓸𝓹 𝓷𝓸𝔀, 𝓥𝓪𝓪𝔃𝓿𝓪!"```

A valorous cry, and one entirely lacking of the traces of cowardice which Aazkue long wished to discard. His voice rang with clarity, and, strangely, without the crimson warmth of the *`Sun of Purity,`* He felt... More *Awake,* Than he had ever been. He lacked strength in either of his legs, and yet he felt stronger to stand than he ever had before in his life. His body was damaged, scarred, and broken, and yet he felt more enabled than he ever had, in the past—
Chasity
But the beastly man before him would not stand down. All logic and reasoning, all mindfulness of the words of warning of those around him — of the taunts of Tabby, of the panic of Cumhall, and even the cries of Kuouo, the one outsider he had grown to trust, even if only in slight — eluded his sheer *Instinct.* His judgment, marred and corrupted by hundreds of years in the Exile's Watch. His *Bloodlust,* And one that thirsted to crush not only *Outsiders,* But *Aazkue,* Too. They — the outsiders — and him — that damned monster, Aazkue — were the origins of all fault and pain within this sorry hamlet. They were to blame for every trouble that had and would befall the First Floor, and would only further grow to corrupt the hallowed nature of the *Ark.*

*It was his duty to the Ezer to exterminate them.*

The tenebrous of the Eclipse Prayer which __Veit__vaazva incanted died in its enshadowing property, receding into the ground at the elder's feet as naught but the magical presence of his gleaming, golden eyes were left in the wake of his presence. The harrowing presence of hostility that emanated about the beastly man spiked in ferocity, as each and every muscle in his body flared, his legs shifting to better grip the earth beneath himself—

***As he charged forth, so to take the life of the first enemy before him — Tabby.***

She was the only thing between him and the monster which needed slain, here.

Yet as he continued forth, Tabby would, no doubt, bring retaliation. Not only her, but so too Aazkue, who, himself, would directly seek to intercept __Veit__vaazva, fast in his approach. **A powerful wave of destructive energy would blast forth from the guardian's right hand, seeking to knock __Veit__vaazva from his feet.** *But he would not falter.* Backing his approach with a dreadful, superhuman strength, even such a powerful attack as coordinated by a child of the sun could not stop him in his charge forward.
Margaret
There was the fight, there was the dispute. There was their ideologies, their emotions, displayed in flagrance upon the canvas of battle, their attacks the stroke of brushes that coated the world around themselves with the color of their souls. There was held what was to be the settling of their dispute — a gruesome display of strength and violence which would change the dynamic of the First Floor for all eternity. There was held their attention, and their scrying eyes, and there was held the clashing forces of a reviled Floor Guardian, a besmirched lord of gold, and the outsiders and exiles who so sullied the name of the *Ark.*

A wonderful play. One that granted allure to the dissonant, and one that bequeathed a sense of intricacy to the utterly base and abominable. Their woes on display, and the history that they carried with them on open display. Even a man of such careful refinement as himself could find intrigue to be found, on this utterly tumultuous stage.

And in the shadow of the cacophany, in the sole place unseen by the prying eyes of each and every member present in the scene of the chaotic battleground, there emerged *Ve.* 
In the one place that noone would think to look, nor a place that one *Could* Look—

**The shadow of the guardian, himself, *Aazkue.***

In his right hand, he wielded devious magicks, soon to bind and tangle each and every soul here.
In his left hand, he wielded a dagger, soon to pierce the throat of the hapless son of the sun.

And yet, neither were tangible, neither truly existed; both were instruments of metaphor, either of his palms filled with naught but his intent and his wit.

In his right hand, he wielded the magicks of manipulation.
In his left hand, he wielded the dagger of divulgement.

*`Now, we approach the climax.`*
_ _

As __Veit__vaazva roared forth, and as Aazkue retaliated, Ve waited patiently, and withdrew from his cloak the item that would make all things here change.

*A helm. A single, piddling little helm. The helm of a Knight of Sol.*

```fix
"𝙈𝙮 𝙇𝙤𝙧𝙙, 𝘼𝙖𝙯𝙠𝙪𝙚."
"I understand that now may not be the most appropriate of times,"```

He spoke, cutting through the clamor and the uproar of the battlefield, his elegant, smooth, and yet austere voice ringing with the chimes of absolute clarity from directly behind the guardian. 

The one to whom he spoke — Aazkue — could hardly believe his senses as he heard the origin of the sound, his eye briefly peeking over his shoulder in sheer shock of Ve's presence.

```fix
"But I have brought news most urgent to you, of all people."```

__Veit__vaazva grew closer and closer in approach, his ferocity unbroken, and his determination unshaking. The Solar Guardian released yet another blast of fiery air toward the monstrous man who approached, but his fascination, shock, and worry was still held solely by the man behind him — Ve.

```fix
"The final embers of the Knights of Sol..."```

He raised the brass helm which he earlier withdrew, raising it for the guardian to clearly see with his own two eyes. And within the helm, at the very cusp of its brazen form, was *Blood.*

**```fix
"...𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙗𝙚𝙚𝙣 𝙚𝙭𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙪𝙞𝙨𝙝𝙚𝙙 𝙖𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙙𝙨 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙞𝙣𝙩𝙧𝙪𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙨 𝙗𝙚𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪."```**
Beverly
_ _














_**```diff
- Ｔｈｅ　ｗｈｏｌｅ　ｗｏｒｌｄ　ｆｅｌｔ　ａｓ　ｔｈｏｕｇｈ　ｉｔ　ｈａｄ　ｃｅａｓｅｄ　ｔｏ　ｂｅ． -```**_














_ _
```ahk
: ʰᵘᵐᵐᵐ... :```

**`Uezekor - Roko - Vuerre`**

*`I remember now a distant memory.`*
*`I remember the day which I determined who I was, and who I was going to be.`*
*`When even as fearful as I was, I stepped forth, into eternity...`*

```ahk
: ʰᵘᵐᵐᵐ... :```

The azure root crawls its eternal crawl across the guardian's flesh, and the air goes deathly chill.

**`Zeikevesh - Zekor - Reitzei`**

*`I remember now a fond memory.`*
*`Of his voice, calling out to me—`*
Joseph
*```fix
"𝙷𝚘𝚠 𝚖𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛 𝚍𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚗 𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚛𝚢, 𝚋𝚛𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛?"
"𝙼𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎—... 𝙾𝚞𝚛 𝙻𝚘𝚛𝚍, 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏, 𝚝𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞, 𝚍𝚒𝚍 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚗𝚘𝚝?"

"𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫."```*
Beverly
*`You cried too, brother.`*
*`When noone else could see,`*
*`you mourned for her embrace that ceased to be.`*

```ahk
: ʰᵘᵐᵐᵐ... :```

Tears well in the guardian's eyes, as he furls his fists vengefully.

**`Ktotezue - Zeitez and Vozre, to be wedlock`**

*`I remember now, a recent memory.`*
*`Of his sword, extended down to me,`*
*`Metal to my neck, and his eyes... I cannot see.`*
*`He chokes back tears, and begins to breathe—`*
Joseph
```fix
"𝑩𝒓𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓, 𝒉𝒐𝒘 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒊𝒕 𝒆𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒘𝒂𝒚...?!"```
Beverly
```ahk
: ʰᵘᵐᵐᵐ... :```

The dominant, azure glow of the blue root overshadows the crimson vestiges of individuality. Aazkue begins to stand.

**`Kaaze - Vaarektaak...`**

*`I remember now, my most terrible memory—`*
*`As he departed, as he could not bear to see—`*
*`my form, decrepit, in misery—`*
*`I wondered, and I wondered, and I wondered, and I wondered and I wondered, and I wondered, and I wondered, and I wondered, and I wonder`*
__*`When I die, who will remember me?`*__

**`...Ukue`**

_ _
```ahk
: ʰᵘᵐᵐᵐ... :```


***`Hatred.`***

*`Hatred that burns hotter than the flames of individuality.`*
*`Hatred that burns stronger than the draw of one's need for unity.`*
*`Hatred that burns to consume even its own origin.`*

***`I think... I understand, now.`***

_ _
*`I understand hate, and I understand misery.`*
*`But even more, I now understand the meaning of her words.`*

```cs
 𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳."```

*`And even more,`*
*`I understand what I was meant to be.`*

```diff
- "𝓘 𝓪𝓶 𝓐𝓪𝔃𝓴𝓾𝓮."
- "𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓵𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽 𝓸𝓯 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓮𝓭𝓸𝓶."```

*`I hate, and I hate, and I hate,`*

The guardian clutches his right hand close to his chest, and stood untrembling on both of his two ruined feet, he stares to the sky.

*`But I cannot hate you.`*
*`I cannot hate you, any of you,`*
*`because you, all, are like me...`*

...And an aura of all-burning, all-scorching *Crimson* Erupts from his right hand. 
His body catches alight, and a searing flame that blinds all those that behold it breaks forth, engulfing, in its all-reaching light, the very sky and horizon of the First Floor.

***```diff
- Ｉｎ　ｔｈｅ　ｗａｋｅ　ｏｆ　ｈｉｓ　ｃｒｉｍｓｏｎ　ｌｉｇｈｔ，　ｉｔ　ｆｅｌｔ　ｌｉｋｅ　ａ　ｎｅｗ　ｗｏｒｌｄ　ｗａｓ　ｍａｄｅ　ｔｏ　ｂｅ. -```***
Anne
*```
...Beep!```*

As Aazkue's light blinded their senses, the exiles seemed to be carried upon the winds of the flame that erupted forth from the Solar Guardian's form of pure light. They are whisked away to locations far, far from the foot of the Ascent to the Second Floor, the atmosphere tangibly shifting — as though a ***Greater link*** Had been severed. 

The outsiders, however, would not be moved in such a manner. Rather, as they struggled to stay with their footing within the wake of the Guardian's tremendous miracle, they hear a subtle *`'beep'`* Chime from each of the satchel-shaped devices on their persons — the V.A.R.E.T, which seemed to have some sort of safeguard against the otherworldly influence before them. They would not be transferred, as were the exiles, and would instead stay as firmly grounded as they could keep themselves, in the wake of the guardian...
Beverly
***A star of individuality is born.***

Aazkue's form is turned into the kindling for the uprising of a greater entity — a ***Star,*** And one of tremendous heat. A heat that burned not the flesh, but *Bonds.* The bonds of oaths, the bonds that held the Exiles to the First Floor—

***And the bonds of blue that sealed the gate of the Ascent to the Second Floor.***

The star rises, and continues to rise, its crimson inferno rising high, high into the sky above, searing the green of the false-sky above into a hue of deep red.
And, below, there is seen nothing — Aazkue, the exiles, the debris and remainder of the root that raveled about the tower... Gone.

**The way to the Second Floor has been opened.**