nexus_crossings | Into a Rising Wind

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Into a Rising Wind

Winter holds the Nexus in its jaws, and its teeth sink ever deeper.

A month into the storm, the snow has yet to stop falling. The number of mouths to be fed has stopped dwindling, almost. Occasionally people go missing, and those who notice hope they’ve found a way back through their portals. It’s not enough to change the maths on their food supplies - all their supplies. Nobody is getting a full meal at a time, not any more. Isidor and Lyall have begun to enforce the rationing with iron hands. Both ignore the look that crosses Captain Kirk’s face when they upbraid a volunteer cook for being too generous – the look that lingers on Runa’s face if she’s close enough to hear. They’re doing what they must. They need a tight hold on their supplies if they want to get people through this. They need supplies even to send expeditions after more.

And expeditions are a difficult prospect now. Those who ventured into the storm and returned have brought stories that spread faster than Isidor hoped. The Crossroads Cafe has become a semi-official hub for those travelling outside or keeping watch on the bounds, a safe resting place kept warm by the combined power of Pokemon and Persona. In the long dark nights, people sit around the tables and share what they've seen, what they've heard from this scout or that refugee. Whispered tales of the creatures out there hunting in packs, hounding people from rooftops, even tearing open walls to reach them…

No-one goes out alone, now. Those brave enough to take the risk go in groups and arm themselves with the best weapons they can find. Sometimes they’re a risk to themselves. Not everyone knows how to handle that black market plasma pistol they picked up two days past. Not all of their team-mates keep their nerve when a figure looms out of the snows beside them. Sometimes it’s hard to tell who’s run afoul of monsters, and who of their own folly. Safer, but little less brave, are the people recruited to keep watch on that shifting line of torches. Just a precaution. The creatures don’t come past it, everyone says. But quietly, everyone doubts.

There've been bright moments, too. A strange alchemist comforting a lost child. An expedition team fighting their way home, back to back. Families brought safely through the snow by soldiers and wizards, by heroes young and old and sometimes surprising. A volunteer cook stepping up to prepare, if not quite a hundred thousand meals, then something that feels close. A young man saving the life of a stranger who'd threatened him. The past weeks have seen people who may never have known one another before come together to offer a blanket, or guiding words, or a helping hand in a search. Small moments, glowing reminders of how much good the people of the Nexus have on their side. But the Winter goes on, and the winds never get less bitter, and the smiles get more strained with every day.

Slowly the line of torches close on the Plaza, a noose no-one can afford to flee. Sheltered space is at a premium. Most of those who remain are settled as close to the centre as they can be. Whether in the big public bunker or the Cafe, people find themselves crammed all together, and tempers regularly fray among residents not too cold and exhausted for fighting. The more responsible Nexus-goers find themselves trying to duck out of (or break up) fights, or spending hours stuffing drafty accommodation with any insulation they can find. There’s snow to be shoveled from doors, pipes to be defrosted, bandages to be changed. Anything’s better than dealing with the problem of working bathrooms.

At one end of the Plaza headquarters, a makeshift screen has been dragged into place to give a semblance of privacy to Isidor’s desk. It’s painfully early in the morning, though the nights are so long and the days so dim beneath the storm clouds there’s little sense of time any more. There’s no-one around yet to wonder about the meeting going on. The only people present are Isidor, Lyall and a handful of senior volunteers – those who remain. Blaze-37 crouches by a makeshift fireplace, stacking the salvaged wood just right before she punches it lightly, setting it alight with the flames that ripple over her fist. The other robot, Ghost, is hovering over the desk playing flashlight for them, shining a pale beam over the maps and reports laid out there. Light, too, is a precious resource, as batteries die and outlets are lost to encroaching Winter. It’s the only reason those here have gotten sleep. They work until they have no light to work by.

“Shouldn’t we wait for Suou?” the Guardian asks when Isidor says they can begin.

“Officer Suou won’t be coming.”

That’s part of why they’re here, Isidor explains. The torches’ march has taken them past the Grand Library. The Crossroads Café is now on the very edge of the safe zone, along with all the people sheltering there. Katsuya’s magic is the only thing that will protect it. He can’t leave. It’s a turning point that only drives home the larger problem: they’re running out of time. They’re running out of everything. Most refugees are in some kind of shelter by now; what they lack is food to keep them alive and fuel to keep them warm. Isidor’s volunteers have counted heads and counted tins and counted everything backwards and forwards and the numbers never get better. Either they do something now, while they have the strength, or the meals will run dry in two weeks. Less, if anything goes wrong.

She lets that sink in. Nobody looks surprised: she’s confirming their worst suspicions and that gets a few flinches, but they understand. They talk, instead. By the time there’s a hint of daylight outside and someone knocks on the door for the first shot at rations, they have a plan. They need an expedition, bigger than any before. They need enough arms to discourage attack, the skills to get them to any buried supplies and the numbers to haul them back in quantity. Each of them walks away from the table with a mission in mind and an air of grim determination.

They have a job to do, and they’re going to need help.

((As before, so below: the main missions/subquests for the expedition prep are listed below. Tag any of them, threadhop, or post with your own character. I suggest putting your character’s name in the subject to help keep things clear. The OOC Post can be found here! If you have any questions, feel free to message me or one of the mods!))

Threads of Note

Scouting the Expedition | A Fistful of Torches | Scrapyard Sweep | The Home Front | Medical Attention | Isidor's Expedition Call | Main Expedition: The Raid

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Trouble is, it may be both a supply run and the Battle of Twilight Gap. Or, perhaps, the first Nexus Road War. Furiosa is all too aware that breaking through the line doesn't mean they won't be pursued, that conquering pursuit doesn't mean they won't meet a whole new line of resistance closer to the Plaza, and that when they hit the safety of the torches--assuming their magic holds--they won't continue to be under siege afterwards. This is far, far from over. This is only beginning.

She switches the flare gun for the Glock again, and while she's focusing on the drive, she's not too shy to fire off potshots at anything in her way. She'll blithely plow over the dregs.

"Keep on the ones on our tail," she tells Kinner as they break free. Her shoulder's bleeding but it's nothing as far as she's concerned, storm-green eyes bright and feverish with adrenaline as she surveys the landscape ahead and pushes the vehicle for all it's worth. "Watch for anything coming up from the side."

She's choosing her path, taking steep open ground rather than risking going past anywhere that might provide shelter for an ambush. But even without Blaze and Ghost's orders, she's dead-set on her job now. She stopped for Kinner once, but she can't let herself worry about anyone else, certainly not anyone out of her reach. All she can do is fang it and let the snowmobile fly across the icy ground.

Dimly she's aware of Josh catching up behind them, but the fact that he threw them a gun tells her he's in no shape to fire on their behalf. Still, he's a pair of eyes.

"Kinner, tell the escort bike there to watch our 3 and 9 if he can," she says. She can't take the time to turn up and back and shout.

Matt's sensitive ears are still ringing when he senses someone looming near him, putting their hands on him, and he goes to strike out on reflex before he recognizes her voice. "Sif?" He leans against her, good arm slung around her shoulders, and she feels reassuringly solid and strong under his touch, a touchstone as he slowly gets his bearings back. Thank God.

"Sif, the convoy, we have to protect it," he says, only now becoming aware that he's lost one of his batons, his injured arm no longer willing to hold anything. But he's still clutching the other one in a white-knuckled grip, and he's on his feet, and they have to protect the payload or everyone is fucked. He can deal with being injured later, right? He's got one arm working, he can still fight.

Everything else is just noise, still, and he tries to narrow down his focus. ...there! There's the snowmobile, its engine roaring as Furiosa spurs it on, getting the hell out of the warzone that's erupted all around them. Matt turns his head in that direction, listening for sounds of pursuit. "We have to help."

Blaze's message isn't what Natalie wants to hear. In fact, it only lights the fire within her via anger. That's the harsh reality of the situation. It was never about helping the team survive, but only ensuring the people of Nexus won't starve. Some of the people here aren't heroes, just people. Only getting the food to the camp matters, so in reality, only one person has to survive: a driver of the payload.

The critical decision she'll have to make is whether her life is worth sacrificing, and the second, if she can bear the loss of her teammates during this mission. Abandoning comrades is a selfish move, one that will weigh heavily on her heart, already clouding her judgment.

"I should've never come out here..." Said to no one, before she sends out last message to Blaze via the radio. "Understood. Only the food matters." Bitterly resigned to this fate, she jumps onto Volcarona's back. Politoed is recalled to his Pokeball as she flies high above the convoy, not staying close to her allies in the slightest. Her eyes are only on protecting the convoy as she flies. If any of them fall off or aren't directly slowing the vehicle down, she doesn't care.

Somewhere on the other end of the channel. Ghost might sigh breathlessly in relief. Last time they went into battle with civilians, Steve didn't come back with them. Sacrificed in a diversionary tactic gone awry. Neither of them are eager for a repeat, and even Blaze's cavalier attitude doesn't extend to non-Guardians dying.

"We'll catch up as soon as we've drawn off the heavies. Good luck!" Unaware if she's heard or not, Blaze clicks off the open channel. Someone's got to get that commander and its massive scorch cannon pointed away from the supplies - and the team. At least long enough for Furiosa to get out of range, and the others to get a head start. She knows what she's good at. She'll get it done.

Kinner obeys Furiosa's order, yelling to the support bike, before turning back, gun trained on the Fallen who are tailing them.

"Our first priority," Kinner says between shots, "is getting our butts outta here. We've gotta get the food back to the folks back home. I trust Blaze. She'll be fine. We've gotta handle what we can." He turns to Furiosa. "That big guy...I hope they can handle him. Those varmints are from Blaze's world. She's the only one who knows what the hell we're fighting. All I know is they're pirates and they ain't from these parts."

Kinner's used to human opponents, and he's used to killing. Back at the research station where he worked, there were a handful of former or current military men, himself among them. He doesn't enjoy killing, but he also understands that there are times when it's necessary. The Fallen, whatever their reasons are, won't let them take the food without a fight.

"Maybe we'll find out what they were trying to kill us over once the dust's settled. Awful cunning of them to starve us out. Mean, but effective. They're going through a lot of effort for food they weren't even gonna eat for all we know. Assumin' they even eat."

Edited 2019-03-25 05:54 (UTC)

There's a shout from the Fallen troops, far behind - impossible to say if it's victory or rage at the snowmobile escaping over their downed comrades. Josh has long disappeared into the snow, but there's a couple of other escorts nearby, and out in the open they're free to move in and support the snowmobile without getting bogged down and trapped in a melee. Rifle fire lances after them for a bit, but they and the Pokemon overhead are moving swiftly, and the swirling snow veils their escape. Soon the smoke and the shouts and the fire fall behind, and they've only rocks and snow to contend with.

It doesn't last.

From the mist comes a chorus of hums, building suddenly into the whine of antigrav engines. A pack of hoverbikes arrows from the haze, smooth and heavy-built in their brown armor, like the dropships. The jets at their rear snap with unsteady electricity as they swing in easily behind the convoy's tail and fan out around it. One of the dregs driving ducks a little lower behind his bike's armor to avoid a shot from Kinner.

And then they open fire, because of course the bikes have mounted energy weapons. They're trying to herd the convoy onto rougher ground and harry away the escort bikes.

So. Road War.

Oh, great. A road war. And of course they have motorbikes. Kinner stays with Furiosa, groaning when he sees the bikers approach. And there he was, daring to hope that they were home free. No such luck - go figure. It looks like there's more fighting to do. How many Fallen are there? He's starting to wonder where they'll all go once the winter ends.

"They really don't want to let us go, do they? Determined bastards if nothing else." The cook grits his teeth, firing whenever he gets a clear shot at one of the bike riders, also aiming to destroy the weapons when he can. If he can't hit the pilots, he can sabotage the energy weapons. "Can't imagine why it's so important to them that they stop us. But clearly they aren't telling us anything."

Kinner, thinking as a soldier, wonders whether taking a prisoner would be a good idea. They have people who could translate, and it might be a way to learn what the Fallen want and why they're attacking so violently. Then again, capturing one alive would be anything but easy, and they're sapient. He wouldn't put it past them to kill their wounded or even themselves over surrendering to the Nexus people. They seem downright fanatical.

Pride. If Natalie has learned anything from her brief conversations with Blaze is that the Fallen seem to have some sort of pride. Clearly they have no desire to negotiate and only want to stop the group for their own reasons. She might have a mobility advantage right now, attempting to fly higher up in the sky, but also pulling backward so she can try to get the flank on the Fallen.

If that's an option, she'll start ordering fire-based attacks at the bikers, aiming at their tools and the terrain in front of them. It's the best plan she has at the moment.

"Supply runs are never really about supplies," Furiosa tells Kinner grimly, wide eyes darting back and forth across the road ahead of them. "They're about territory and power."

Even if they make it back with the food and repel any immediate retaliation, Furiosa will be very surprised indeed if that ends the war. Winter may end, but if the Fallen aren't all killed or magically evaporated or something, she'd bet the good arm they'll be seeing them again. Which is going to bring up a lot of serious concerns, on her end. She has a settlement of thousands of people to think about and protect.

If the Nexus becomes more of a liability than an asset, the Council may have to reconsider their whole relationship with the place.

Of course, that's irrelevant right now. Right now, what matters is they're being fucking followed by hovering bikes. If it weren't for the risk of avalanche, Furiosa would have insisted on carrying explosives. As it is, she has two dozen incendiary rounds made from modified flares, and a pistol crossbow she cobbled together herself. It won't be enough, but it'll be something.

When Kinner shoots, she watches to see whether there's any snap of blue energy like with the captain they fought before. Seeing none is a relief. She has multiple guesses as to why they're trying to push her into rough territory, but in the end all that matters is that she not go where they want her to.

"Be ready to duck incoming fire," she tells Kinner, and swerves abruptly, letting the trailer behind her fishtail so hard it more or less does a crack-the-whip maneuver into one of their pursuers. If they lose some of their cargo but keep the bulk of it, it's still a victory.

A second later, she repeats the motion, and then uses the sudden spray of snow it causes as cover. She's got her boltcutters at her side, and jamming them between the seat and the pedals holds the gas down for her. With a fluid motion, she swings out on the door beside her and aims the crossbow. It shoots only one bolt at a time, but her aim is good. The Fallen biker closest to her will get an incendiary round in the face before she flings herself back into the driver's seat, panting.

Aiming a rifle from a moving vehicle is a feat when you’re working on bruised ribs. Nonetheless, Kinner gets his shots off and hears a few hit. It’s hard to see if they do damage, but the Fallen riders are spooked. They veer from side to side to try and evade, before Furiosa swings the trailer in that wide fishtail arc. Kinner had better forget about shooting and hold on for a minute. From on high Volcarona’s fire splashes wide across the ground behind them, boiling the thick snow up into a glowing mix of fire and steam between them and the rear bikes. Either side, the two escorts keep pace, trying to shield the space around the precious snowmobile-while also giving its driver room to maneuver.

The swinging trailer, meanwhile, slams dead into the Fallen bike beside it. Jars and cans go flying, yes – but the bike spins wildly away and falls behind them, electric arcs snapping from its cracked side. A minute later Furiosa sends a second scuttering to a halt in the snow, its rider slumped at the controls. The escort rider on that side has to swing around it, but he flashes Furiosa a relieved thumbs-up when he recovers.

It’s become hard to see just what’s going on behind them. From above, Natalie glimpses the pack swerve and slow before they’re obscured by the steam cloud her Pokemon is raising. For a few moments there’s silence but for the sound of engines, human and alien alike. Then one of the enemy bikes surges out of the haze. Its engines flare with blue fire as it accelerates nimbly past the trailer and the left flank escort bike, up past the left-hand side of the snowmobile itself. The alien machine is screaming as the rider swings it in a 180-degree turn, slinging it almost in front of Furiosa’s ride and daring her to risk slamming into it. No time to think, only to do.

But it is absolutely trying to force her right and in among the trees.

Edited 2019-03-28 22:08 (UTC)

Kinner is about to find out that Furiosa is a screamer. At least, she is in the sense that she yells blistering curses when frustrated. If she slams directly into the goddamn bike that's pulled in front of her, that's mutually assured destruction. A snowmobile is not a War Rig. On the other hand, into a thicket of trees is not the place to go when you're hauling a trailer. Whether there are other forces in wait or not, they could get hung up between trunks and stalled for a very long time.

"Kinner, get down!" She yells, and twists the wheel. The snowmobile swerves, but only a little bit--enough so that it hits the nose of the blocking bike rather than plowing into it broadside. Metal screeches and bends without fully giving way, and suddenly the alien bike and the snowmobile are locked together, roaring their way down the road.

The Glock comes up, fires a little wildly at the Fallen in the seat that's way too close beside them. The extra drag to one side makes steering dicey, too, unfortunately.

"Roger that!" Military language. Kinner's thinking like a soldier in the field, and Furiosa's his commanding officer. He trusts her judgement.

Kinner obeys Furiosa's directions, for now focused less on shooting the Fallen and more on staying on board the snowmobile. He's already almost fallen to his death today and he isn't in the mood for it again. He gets down, the only thought in his head that his coworkers wouldn't believe him if he told them about this. He laughs, both out of excitement and sheer disbelief. This is happening. This is happening and his mind's racing and his hearts flailing against his chest like a canary in a birdcage.

He isn't so bothered about the swearing. He's no prude, and he was in the Army. He's used to swearing. He'll need a good long rest once they get out of this mess, that's for sure. His chest's hurting him, but he's struggling through it as he clasps his gun and keeps an eye out for more Fallen attackers.

Edited 2019-03-30 03:53 (UTC)

The next few minutes are going to be frantic. The dreg rider snarls right back at Furiosa, ducking when she shoots. At that range, though, even wild shots can hardly miss and a couple of rounds sink into the dreg’s near shoulder. Its cry of pain is lost in the roar of engines and grind of metal… but it holds on, hunching over the bike and driving it right into the snowmobile.

It’s going to become a grinding push and pull of locked horns, each trying to force the other out of control. There’s no help on that side, either. Somewhere in the chaos a couple of other Fallen bikes separate out the left escort rider, and they’re chasing him into the trees. The other tries to drop around and help, only to find the rest of the pack shooting up his tail.

They’re on a different trail to the one they came now, cutting straight where they detoured earlier. And out of the haze ahead looms a new threat: the great stump and splintered end of a broken tree. The locked vehicles are rushing straight for it.

This will either be a gift, or a lethal disaster.

There's something strangely reassuring about the dreg rider snarling back at her. It makes her feel more like she's on a run back home, locked in combat with a Buzzard or some random party of scavs with heavy weapons. That, and she has to give the schlanger credit for staying on target even with her shooting at him.

He's a good driver. She's going to kill him anyway, if she can, but he's good.

She barks a laugh, once, and keeps her metal arm held at the ready. He's close enough to stab her if he tries, and that might send the bike out of control and kill him, but a War Boy would do it. She's been punctured on a run like this before and is not eager for a repeat.

And as if she's conjured it from that very thought, the stump looms up ahead of them. Later she'll swear she almost thought she heard Joe's voice Angharad! Look out!

God help them if the trailer hitch isn't solid, she thinks, and sinks as low as she can, pulling hard at the steering. As much as she'd like to scrape off the biker locked with her, the trailer is a concern; she'd rather dodge altogether than risk losing their cargo. But the dreg is pulling her, too. Her best efforts to go wide of the stump still mean they're hurtling close, close, too close.

She brakes and turns hard at the same time; there's a shower of splintered wood and metal and ice. The snowmobile rocks dangerously, threatening to roll, and Furiosa yells something that's more of a cry of pain than a swear word, but her foot is still on the gas pedal, and the engine still roars beneath her.

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When they started this mission, they were debriefed about how important it was to get the food, and make sure the food got home. All that food is now on the convoy... which is speeding away on snowmobiles... and Harley can not do one damn thing to keep up.

Not with her ankle still not healed.

So she stands where she is, fighting with all her fury. Really it is the only thing she can do right now. The 'Generals' who gave them this mission -- Durant and Kirk -- are not here to provide any guidance. And their 'Commander' has run off after the Giant Fallen, breaking her own rules for protecting the convoy.

So who is in charge now?

At least she still has Loki within sight, even though he looks different now. Harley knows she can count on him and that is a comfort. And still within sight are Sif and Matt. Oh... and wait... is that Palmer too?

"The convoy is too far ahead of us." She calls out over to Matt, as she continues to fight any of the Fallen close to her. "Group together, protect each other. There are others who are protecting the convoy and we have to put our faith in them. Let's get ourselves out of this situation!"

Loki could keep up. He could ride the wind, teleport, move through ice and shadow, but he can't carry the others that way. He can also wear the shape of a horse, but that won't run at the speed the snowmobile races. Even as he flings darts of red flame into the surrounding enemies, he glances up and around, checking for the scouts with bikes and seeing none.

That means they're on foot for any potential retreat. Whether they win or they lose, that's a hard slog back to the Plaza, unless they can somehow commandeer one of the enemy ships.

Red eyes flicker toward Harley as she speaks, and--she makes sense. He doesn't have to stay with them. He doesn't have to assist them. But here he is anyway.

He can spare a few minutes.

He'll clear a path for the remaining Nexus fighters to draw closer together, lunging and weaving through the front lines with surprising agility given his increased height and bulk. Dagger and flame bite and harry at the Fallen who are close enough, making space for his allies.

There's someone else nearby, trying to keep out of sight while aiming his pistol at the target. That Fallen is so big that Palmer can't possibly miss his shot, and with it distracted by the fight he might have a chance to get in a few good bullets. He's got plenty left. He can't do this all day, but he can do it for a while, and he's determined to show the Fallen that underestimating him was a mistake. He wonders if the one who laughed at him is somewhere in the crowd.

He hopes that Fallen saw him down the vandal. Hell, Palmer didn't even know he had it in him. He'll have to tell MacReady about that one - he doubts Mac ever fought space pirates.

Palmer's slithering closer to the big Fallen. He knows better than to attack head on, but he has a gun, and it's probably suffered some damage in the fight so far. He probably won't be able to take it down, but he's going to try his best to go unseen and get in a few shots while he can. Harley, Matt, and Sif need his help, and he's still flushed with adrenaline after killing his first Fallen. He hides, aiming his handgun before firing at the giant.

Sif is fast but she knows she isn't capable of running with enough speed to keep up with the convoy now. She shakes her head and tightens her grip on Matt just so. "No, my friend. They are beyond our help now. We must defend those our weapons can reach."

Speaking of which, she can't help but notice one of the Fallen approaching Loki and Harley from an angle. She drops her sword point-first into the snow to draw a double-ended throwing knife from her boot, throwing it with devastating accuracy.

She picks her sword up again and hefts Matt enough that she can run with him. There's no way the two of them can fight the massive Fallen like this, but she won't relinquish her hold on him, instead focusing on slicing and jabbing at any of the smaller ones that are foolish enough to come within the range of her blade.

The Fallen close in as the group moves together. Some of the smaller ones seem to sense weakness and try to go for Matt directly, but he’s not as out of the fight as he looks – and Sif certainly isn’t. Blades clash and swipe and Matt’s baton cracks down on bone and the hissing, squalling dregs are held at bay. Their compatriots have other – one bigger problem in particular, as Loki in his larger form moves back and forth amid the battle, forcing the Fallen to scatter around him. The chemical smell of their blood hangs in the air with the burnt ozone of discharged weapons, and some of their bodies are slumped in the muddy snow. But they haven’t stopped fighting. Their outsized opponent only seems to inspire greater fervor in their assault, and it’s a good thing for the group that both Sif and Harley’s blades don’t waver.

In the melee Palmer’s managed to sneak closer to the big captain. It helps a bit that the Fallen officer is striding for the others, pistols firing to try and scatter the group again. Palmer’s fire from the side comes as a surprise. He hits the captain in the side and arm and pale vapor wisps out from the wounds. The captain snarls his anger and whirls to shoot at Palmer. At the same moment a loyal vandal spots the human and lunges for him- only to be cut off by Loki’s advance and a slash of his knife. It gives Palmer the opening to rejoin the others and garner a little more safety.

There’s scant chance for the humans and Asgardians to look around. But across the rest of the field the Fallen seem to be disappearing, pulling back. A few are perched up the slope by the trees to watch the show below. But this small portion of the army fights on. The captain flexes his wounded arm, howls to the air, and starts toward Loki with grim fury. His underlings clear a path before him. The team is surrounded, and it’s clear now it’ll be a fight to the death on both sides…

Then something changes. There’s a shout from one Fallen, that ripples through those remaining. The captain halts, eyes on Loki and swords in a guard as a vandal calls out to him. Impossible to read his masked face, but everything in his posture, every guttural syllable he growls out in answer screams frustrated anger. Then, reluctantly, he crouches down, blue cape crumpling against the mud. Immediately his subordinates spring away from their opponents and do likewise. In a glimmer of white light, every living Fallen around them dematerializes- followed by every other Fallen in sight. Only the corpses and scattered equipment remain. And then, as engines roar above them and the ships reappear hovering overhead, the dead and the broken too begin to vanish.

The battle, it seems, has been won. But as to who is victorious…

Loki is conservative in his attacks at first, merely trying to clear a way for his mortals to get closer together. He's forced to give up on that before long, though; when pushed, he can be truly vicious, lashing out with blades, then with crackles of green and red flame. He catches sight of Sif's knife as it flies to his and Harley's defense, and for a split second as the victim falls, he falters, surprise flicking over his face.

A moment and a few fireballs later, he scoops up and pockets the dagger. She got it from him in the first place; she's kept it this long; she's not losing the damn thing now.

It's with a sense of grim amusement that he notes the captain focusing on him. Well, he made himself the tallest there; he supposes they might assume he's in charge. Or the greatest threat. Realistically, he doesn't think he's either of those things. He tells himself he could still flee at any moment, but he has Harley and Sif both here, and he realizes with sudden dismay that...no. He won't be leaving. If it's to the death, then so be it. Seidr flows through him as the captain approaches, long tangled hair whipping up around him, eyes luminous. It's more of a threat display than a prelude to a spell, but he'll do what he must--

Except then everything slows, and stops, and they're dropping into crouches around them. Surely this isn't surrender?

Ah. No, it's retreat. A flick of his hand and his blades are sheathed and hidden, and he turns to touch Harley's shoulder and cheek gently. "Kjaereste. dearest. Can you get them home?"

He's going to follow the Fallen.

The fight for their lives seems to last several moments in Harley's mind. Fighting with Sif at one side, both of their blades cutting down their enemies. Friendly fire from Palmer taking down enemies as he moves closer to join them. Matt's batons making quick work of others around them. And Loki... challenging the Captain Fallen that advances towards the God.

And then...

Everything stops. And the Fallen are retreating. Harley looks around confused... did someone else join them in the fight?

She turns towards Loki when he touches her shoulder, and leans into his touch to her cheek. "Stay safe. Don't make me come hunting for you." It is said with the utmost respect for his decision to follow the Fallen. She knows that he is still seeking answers and hopes that he at least finds them.

Harley turns to the three others. Sif. Matt. Palmer. Her injuries are still healing, but she can tell it will take longer for Matt. It is going to take a long time to get back to Sanctuary. And it is almost nightfall.

"We should find shelter for the night." She goes to where her broken baseball bat lays on the ground. Another sacrifice made. "We can use this as kindling for a fire."

What? No, they can't leave the supplies undefended. Even though it's getting further away by the minute, Matt can hear the sounds of their enemies in hot pursuit of the snowmobile, and the sounds of gunshots and shouting. He struggles against Sif's hold, but she's far stronger than him and all he manages to achieve is making his cracked ribs flare hot and sharp in his chest, and jostle his broken arm so bone grates against bone.

He doesn't have too much time to fight against the inevitable, though, because they're still not in the clear and he's forced to use his good arm to help fend off the Fallen as they target the obvious weak spot: him. He momentarily loses track of the snowmobile in favor of focusing on the immediate threat, lashing out like a cornered alley cat, vicious and hissing in pain, no easy target despite only having one good working arm, especially not with an Asgardian warrior at his side making up the difference.

And then they're just... gone.

That easy?

Matt is suspicious immediately, head cocked to one side as he tries to make out where they've gone, if they're regrouping for an ambush. But relative silence falls in the forest around him, and now he can again hear the noise of the convoy, further and further away, still wrapped in the shroud of battle noise. Too distant for them to catch up and make any difference. The realization makes him bare his teeth in a silent snarl, frustrated and helpless to do anything to aid them.

That's always been the worst part.

He can't tell the difference between night and day lately, the extreme cold making little difference in how he can perceive if the sun is up or down, so Harley's suggestion makes him recoil a bit. "You want to camp out here?"

Matt isn't the only one who's suspicious of the Fallen's abrupt departure. She doesn't dare believe that they're altogether gone--either they've fallen back to further harry the retreating convoy or they'll be back to try and catch their little party off their guard.

Fortunately, Sif is not easily caught off guard.

She stoops slightly to retrieve her knife, careful not to jostle Matt too much. It's obvious to her that he's angry she refused to let him go; to fight the beasts alone and as wounded as he is would be folly, but such a thing can be hard to accept in the midst of battle. A small voice in the back of her mind wonders if he won't forgive her for withholding him, but she can't worry about that now, since it won't matter in the slightest if they don't make it back alive.

The knife is wiped clean on the snow and tucked back into her boot. Scanning the group, she nods in agreement. "It might be wise to find shelter and rest while we can. It will only grow colder, and we ought not to be exposed."

Harley doesn't bat an eye at his increased size, the coldness of his hands, his red eyes. "Never," he tells her, and maybe the leap of his heart is just adrenaline, but he'll remember the exchange. "Mischief finds you, love. You don't have to hunt for it."

Loki tugs at the fur-lined cape around his shoulders. It's peculiar to watch, the way it shrinks to an appropriate human size once it's not on him any longer. He tosses it to Sif. "Here; your friend is injured. Keep him warm."

Turning, he catches sight of Palmer at a slight distance and nods a farewell, then runs in the direction the convoy vanished, which is also a visual trip. His legs seem to cut through the snow like a blade through water, leaving it to ripple and close in his wake. He's not gone far, though, when he leaps into the air, dissolving into a flurry of ice crystals, riding the wind up toward the retreating Fallen ships.

Around the group, even the dead are vanishing. Soon they'll be left alone out there, and if it weren't for their aches and injuries, the churned ground and ash in all directions, it would be hard to know the last half hour even happened. But here they are, far from home, and the shadows are starting to lengthen.

They can use their radios to try and contact the others, to let them know where they stand. The convoy crew might answer, if one of them can spare the breath and the attention. So too might Delia and Natasha where they speed over the snows. But from Josh, or from Blaze or even Ghost...

There's only silence.

High above, meanwhile, Loki's path will only lead him farther into the Wilds...