Off with Your Head!

 Lachlan swore and threw himself back, a hiss-krang turning his view to rainbow static. Just glanced off but damn— "What's he trying to do, kill me?"

Hirano's blade answered by stabbing just above his chest, and he barely twisted away.

"You're in a magically-projected suit of armour, idiot," Eden snapped over the radio.

Would be nice if he could mute it, he reflected as he ducked a brutally efficient slice that nicked something on his head. Broadcasting and hearing everything was going to be a pain.

"I think he's got a vendetta against me," he huffed, yanking himself across the dusty ground in a leap. Calling on the light surrounding him, he pulled the familiar form of a weapon a little more his type, the glowing body of something more in line with a semi-auto than a bolt-action rifle coalescing into existence. And not quite what he'd been expecting.

Hirano launching across the space between them didn't give him much opportunity to dwell on it.

Guess this is a little unpredictable too. He dropped to a knee and took aim, snapping a shot off right where the eyes would be on the samurai-esque helmet. Except it wasn't a shot. The pulse of a bright beam caught him off-guard, Hirano's glowing blade slicing right through the flash.

A wink of light heralded the end stabbing through his own helmet.

Faceless mask, hidden eyes. Running him right through.

I know that beam. I've seen that before. The distant thought crossed his mind even as his vision abruptly winked out and left him staring at a fuzzy green light, oddly numb, his ears ringing. And how the hell did he cut through it?

The entire cockpit jolted. "Ghk!" He clenched his teeth, shoving aside the white beam burned into his mind's eye and catching himself with arms he could still feel. Impressions of the outside world flickered in and out like a kaleidoscope— blotches of colour; light.

Throwing his projection into a blind roll, he slammed his eyes shut, trying to make sense of—

Sword flashing to skewer him again.

"Dammit! I could really use some backup here!" He twisted aside, something jarring through his shoulder. Tingling exploded through his physical shoulder, and he twitched, hissing in a breath. Oh I'm in trouble.

"Don't lose your head." Was that Drake? What a time for a sense of humour.

He chuckled through clenched teeth, throwing his Samurai clean across the battlefield with a jerk that slammed him into his restraints. "Too late."

"We're all busy, gaijin," Eden snapped. "Perhaps if you can't handle him, then you shouldn't be here!"

"Thanks for the confidence, your majesty." He took in a deep breath, pulling the throttles back and engaging them again. With the Core-En still swirling in the cockpit, he only half returned to himself before his view of the arena flashed back.

Just in time to get a good view of Hirano kicking up and slamming down on his helm with that blasted sword.

He rolled away, scrambling back as the other Samurai hit the ground and slashed out smoothly, nicking the projected armour protecting his core. Some people can really— Reforming his whatever-rifle, hopping back from another series of quick, conservative swipes, he shot just over the blade at Hirano's neck —hold a grudge.

The other Samurai jerked back, and a glow flashed. Reflexively, Lachlan ducked, only for the light to resolve into a shield, Hirano scooting back.

"What, are you retreating now?" He muttered. About the worst tactical move he could make, against a gunner. Taking aim at the sliver of helmet visible over the shield, he squeezed the trigger of his little laser rifle—

Only for a hit to slam into his back.

"Watch out!"

He cursed, lurching away and half-spinning to keep Hirano in view, catching sight of a distant Samurai with its hand raised twisting away from another wielding two swords. Drake's, from the different armour style.

"So I'm not the only one with range. Fantastic," he grunted, throwing himself back in a long leap as Hirano pressed the attack, ignoring a twist deep in his gut. Had it thrown something from its hand, or—? A beam of light flickered in his memory, and he shoved that away. These were projections, not suits. "How long is this supposed to go on for?"

"Would you shut up? I'm trying to concentrate!" Ariake exploded, and Lachlan caught a glimpse of his Samurai swinging with a sword of its own against a much lither opponent.

Probably until they either caved or Kyubi called it off, then. Wonderful.

He caught Hirano's swing on his gauntlet, wincing when it cracked, and shot one-handed just below the core. This time, the other didn't back off, pressing in and slamming his shield into Lachlan's face.

"Ow! Feck—!" He felt that, like someone had slapped him with a hand of sizzling glimmer, his view going white for a second. Reeling back, he saw the shield actually glowing through his vaguely watery vision. "How th—?"

"Lachlan!"

He snapped around just as Hirano leapt back again, spotting a glowing hand lifted at him, Drake's Samurai dashing for it, and his heart stopped. Oh hell— Trying to kick away, he instinctively lifted his arms, stomach dropping through his boots.

And he was sixteen again, a glowing ball of light in a raised hand ready to incinerate him—a mini version of the sun. The stench of burnt flesh suffocated him, static screaming between his ears.

It flashed bright and arms pulled around him, shoving his face into a shoulder that smelled of blood and sweat. His breath caught in his throat; his hands clawed to shield his protector, his right half-pinned—

The light burned right through them. A flash of agony stuck choking in his lungs and then nothing.

He swore he could smell charred cloth and hair, and the greasy stink of overcooked meat. He gagged on it and swallowed hard, his stomach threatening to turn over, the projection distant to the sizzling tingle digging sharp claws in his arms and the pressing need to not throw up in this coffin.

"—doing, gaijin?! Move!"

They couldn't— it can't be the same. Taking in an aggressively deep breath and banishing the smell of burning lingering in his nose, he clenched his shuddering fingers around the throttles to steady them. Barely managing to throw his Samurai out of the way of a slicing blade, he yanked it like a puppet on a string. Maybe he'd damaged more than his gauntlets, because he barely felt it.

That was a beam. That was the kind of beam they used.

Get it together. He heard his teammates talking, and he ignored them, tightening his jaw and pulling the Samurai out of the way of a neat swing as if it were a dragon slipping out of Tobira's hands. But unlike Tobira, this gnat wanted to break his construct.

They must've used Core-En. They had Core-En.

His hands tightened around the throttles until they clicked, and he shoved the left—the one for directing more Ki to the construct—forward a notch. That's not important right now.

The cracks leaking threads of light in his gauntlets sealed, the armour seeming a little more solid. Good. He manifested a shield attached to his arm, just a buckler with a razor edge, and angled a stab off it, swapping the rifle out for a handgun.

How the hell did they get their hands on Core-En?

Pouring a dozen shots into Hirano's torso, he forced him back like he wished he could shove away the thoughts. They couldn't have had it. They had had it. All those years ago, when masked attackers had murdered their way through the busiest places in the city at the busiest time of the year—

Hirano's shield blocked the bursts of light and his sword aimed to slice off Lachlan's head. Leaping back, he furiously blinked away the ghostly memory of running through crowded corridors filled with frantic babbling, Da's hand clamped tight on his shoulder, and lashed out at the wrist holding the sword.

Its razor edge actually caught, leaving a trail of glimmering dust, and Hirano faltered, pulling back defensively.

Leaving himself open.

"Dammit! I'm down!"

Ariake. Lachlan noted it distantly as he shoved the throttle the furthest it would go and faintly glowing runes spiralled across his gauntlets. Pulling the rifle back into his newly-freed hands, he took direct aim at the shield between its muzzle and Hirano's helmet. Point-blank.

He bared his teeth. "Damn your sorry arse to hell."

The shield shattered under a light as bright as the God-core, the Samurai helmet behind it following suit.

"Well how do you like that?" He barely had time to smirk before Hirano's headless Samurai lunged forward, the tip of his sword aimed directly at Lachlan's core. Glowing.

He swore, lurching back, but it still cracked into the middle of his chest, not going through, but still—

Kyubi-sama's voice cut through on the radio.

"Enough!"