The Maiden was on her last legs. Granted, they were some pretty nice legs, but still. Last. Her battle with Javik had left her exhausted. She bled from a dozen wounds and her stance told John her ribs, skull, and left femur had all likely been fractured. Her grand daiklave may have been useful against mortals and groups, but against a single Exalt, it was little more than a cumbersome hunk of metal. She lunged at John again, spinning and thrusting, trailing afterimages which briefly resembled falling lotus petals. The Solar matched her strike for strike, parrying her sluggish attacks before ducking under her sword arm and landing a thunderous uppercut. John's blow propelled the Maiden into the air, leaving her open for a barrage of gunfire from him and 042. When she landed, the Maiden of the Mirthless Smile was a bloody, delirious mess, her buff jacket cratered, smoking, and perforated. John couldn't tell whether she was dead, but she was definitely out of the fight.<br/><br/>That left the Mask, the unconscious Raiton, Black Hole Sun, and the maimed Weather Report. The odds were slightly better, but John had a feeling that the Abyssals were merely tag-along grunts compared to the Mask. Javik put up a good fight, but even then, John didn't know which way a fight between the Prothean and the wrestler would go. The Mask gestured, loosing an invisible ripple of power from his hand. As the ripple traveled along the ground, hundreds of colossal ivory spikes erupted from the ruined earth, each one spearing right for Javik. At the last moment, the Prothean's form shimmered, dissolving and reforming in front of Mascara--Seven Shadow Evasion, the Solars' Perfect Dodge technique.<br/><br/>'By god, folks, you're seeing the clash of the titans here! Elder Prothean against Mascara de los Inviernos! This is a way better fight than the Solar put up, boys and girls, and it doesn't look like it'll end any time soon!'<br/><br/>'Damn right, Steve, but my money's on the Mask! Our Prothean just got out of bed and he's bound to be a bit rusty!'<br/><br/>'Exactly what I was thinking, Mike. Hold on, the Mask has splashed blood in the Prothean's eye! How's he going to take that new blind sp--CHAIR SHOT TO THE FACE! SOULSTEEL CHAIR SHOT TO THE FACE!'<br/><br/>Javik had indeed taken a Soulsteel folding chair to the skull, the ring of the impact still echoing in John's ears. The Mask followed up with a chair uppercut on his backswing, knocking Javik prone. John unleashed a biotic charge right as the Mask went for a coup de grace. Anticipating the attack, the luchador sliced his palm open on one of his bracers' spikes and gestured outward. A storm of blood and wind threw the Zenith back, pinning him to the lip of the dig site crater. John activated his own Perfect Defense, the Adamant Skin Technique. Heavy shards of frozen blood pummeled his armor, jarring him even through the unbreakable defense, before collecting in a storm cloud above. John looked up as the cloud formed. It began to rain. Cerberus soldiers caught in the open clawed at their helmet air intakes, gagging and coughing. The lucky ones managed to remove their helmets quickly enough to vomit a horrendous mixture of blood and bile. The unlucky ones choked to death, struggling to undo their helmets' sealants. In a ten-mile radius, all plant and animal life fell and died, poisoned by the torrent of gore raining from the heavens. All the while, the Mask's attendants, a coterie of hungry ghosts, chanted his name, reveling in the blasphemous rains of the blood monsoon. There was something odd about the Mask, however. It took a moment before John realized it.<br/><br/>He was winded. The Mask of Winters was getting tired. They couldn't possibly kill the Mask outright, but they still had a chance of forcing him to retreat. John fought the supernatural nausea brought on by the monsoon and pulled himself up, trailing flecks of faux adamant which dissolved as he withdrew the Perfect Defense. They just needed a plan, and fast.