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Mergo hummed. "... What if we just dress up like all her allies, and then trick her into exploding next to the real ones?"

"It becomes little more than another injury. A home-towner to give you leave from the fighting for an ever-decreasing span of time," he mused. "Welcome to Cibus: where tactical suicides are a spammable strategy.” He surveyed the wastes around him again, his brow furrowed. These craters were...

Mergo clicked his tongue. Of course she would spoil that for him. “Same here. Death is permanent. Legacies are the only way to defy it,” he answered. His fingers drummed on the tip of one of the roots as he glanced towards the tree line. “People die when they’re killed. It’s as simple as that.”

"Except for poor Kamon. Crushed to death by a deck of cards. What a way to go out." Mergo closed his eyes and placed his palm against his chest, spreading his fingers out in all directions. He whispered a prayer. "Ave aster."

"It was this strange purple haze," Mergo answered quickly. The spiked end of the tree started to burrow deep into the dirt, giving him a rough throne to sit on in the nest of unearthed roots. King of the wastes was he. "We fought it on this giant board with numbers and tiles to follow...

He eyed the fist bizarrely as it fell away from him, as if both the object and the gesture were alien to him, but after a sharp inhale, he returned his attention to Astrid and soldiered on. “Mine had been this,” he answered, and he clenched a fist behind his back. The two trunks beside him...

Mergo returned with a cordial nod. "Dickbreaker." Far better than whatever her actual title would be.

"... Excuse me," greeted a Gardevoir, standing some twenty yards away with his blood still up. Flanking him on either side were two great uprooted trees, their branches torn off and ends somewhat ground to sharpened points, and they bobbed in the air as if floating in an invisible sea. His eyes...