Ch 01

Autumn leaves, red as fresh apples, descended in a slow dance onto the things below, covering buildings and roads alike in a crimson carpet. The smell of baked goods was heavy in the air throughout the simple town market, simple chatter and gossip fluttering from mouth to ear, Pokegirl to human. A simple, routine day for Briarleaf Town, one of clear skies and bright sunlight.

Briarleaf was a fairly new town, settled in by people who found its location convenient for trade, being near a major river, and very pleasant. It was never too cold, nor too hot. The entire year maintained a modicum between the two, along with pleasant winds and a general lack of severe whether, save for the occasional thunderstorm or two. As such, people commonly went in and out to ply their wares, deliver some cargo, or visit the locale.

Hence a perfect place to start our story.

"Alright! Lower it down nice...and slow...," said a dock worker, motioning to the Ingenue operating the crane as a multitude of cargo boxes were lowered onto the platform. The job was easy, moving cargo from ship to dock for part time pay. A simple one. Safe.

It was, however, predicted that the next few days would have some pretty bad wind.

A sudden gust roared through the dock, dispersing paperwork and throwing various personnel off balance. Worst of all, though, was what happened to the lowering cargo.

The weather change rocked the crane's load back and forth, causing the ropes to strain and several stray boxes to fall. The workers below scattered before they could be crushed under the heavy containers, which tore open and released their cargo upon the rough crash into the hard, cement floor.

One man, though, was not so lucky. Tripping on one of the stray apples that emerged from a fallen crate, the worker tripped and fell over, colliding hard on the floor. He barely managed to turn his head and gawk before the shadow looming over him grew too close and the crate crushed the man, killing him instantly.

Or so he thought.

His eyes glanced something that glowed white, yet black before he shut them closed tight in anticipation of the oncoming doom.

Moments later, he heard excited murmering and a strained breath. The worker, named Johann, mentally blinked. 'Am I...dead?'

"You okay?" someone said to him, a young male voice. Again, Johann mentally blinked.

'I'm...not dead?'

Tentatively, the man opened his eyes. Initially, the bright sun hurt slightly, but soon enough Johann adjusted and his eyes were graced with a sight that was definitely not from heaven.

It was a young man, covered in a thin layer of sweat and grime, but otherwise quite comely. A fact that couldn't help but make Johann feel slightly jealous, who considered himself plain. Simply cut red hair framed a thin face and partially obscured this person's eyes, which were hidden further by purple-tinted glasses. He wore a white hoodie, decaled with black wind designs near its hem and with sleeves half cut off at the shoulder joint, revealing a black shirt underneath. Light brown colored cargoes and brown, leather boots finished off this strange person's appearance.

But oddest of all about this person was this...aura, Johann supposed he could call it. It made him feel...disoriented. Off balance. As though something was...off. Not wrong, really...but different.

"Hey? You okay there?" the young man said again, holding out a hand.

Johann shook himself out of this odd reverie, this strange feeling of off-balance, and took the hand, whose owner proceded to pull him up with a small grunt of effort. "Y-yeah," he managed.

The young man smiled. "Good to know. That could have got pretty ugly," he replied. "How're things over there, Amis?" he said, looking over to the side and drawing Johann's gaze with it.

To the side was a female figure who was dusting off her arms. Johann, being the hot-blooded twenty-some year old man he was, easily admitted that she was hot. And most definitely a Pokegirl, if those massive steel colored wings and armor covering her shapely form was anything to measure things by. She nodded once at his question. "No casualties here, Master."

The odd one smiled. "That's a relief." Suddenly, he adopted this surprised look, as though something had shocked him. Another split-second passed and that same look was gone, making Johann wonder if he had just imagined it. "Ah, damn! I need to leave!" he stated, turning and beginning to run. "Nice meeting you Johann! Amisthyia, return!" he said over his shoulder, pointing a Pokeball at said 'girl and returning her to the pocket-dimension-containing object.

Said dock worker blinked confusedly. "How'd he..."

"Johann! Thank god you're alright, we thought you were a goner for a moment. Who was that?"

"...dunno, actually."

"Really? Well...huh, that's weird. You dropped your ID card."

Johann blinked, taking the laminated piece of paper after noticing it was somehow distached from his shirt pocket. "Yeah...Weird."

---
Siiiiiiip.

Munch-munch.

A sigh of relief.

An uncomfortable silence.

Tea, in a quaint corner shop on a relatively quiet part of the town.

A lack of other patrons.

One older man, dressed in a well groomed tuxedo. Another, in a white hoodie and light brown cargoes with purple-tinted glasses.

"...you know you shouldn't have done that."

A chuckle. "You know me. I can't resist these kinds of things."

A scoff. "Something I know all too well, Mirori Twilel. Youngest graduate of the prestigious Lattice Academy and one of our very few alumni with the honor of a Tamer's license."

Said young man's eyes twitched once, but he smiled nevertheless. "Well, thank you. But...as much as I enjoy this chatter, it makes me wonder why the headmaster of said Lattice Academy and long time companion to my father (may he rest in peace), Proffesor Isov Numeran himself is talking to little old me," Mirori responded with another munch of a cookie. "Mm, macadamia and white chocolate. You know me too well, sir."

An elderly eyebrow twitched. "I helped raised you, child...in any case, I do believe you know why I'm here."

His eyes narrowed behind those tinted spectacles. "...the Wars, I assume."

The proffesor nodded, swirling the remaining tea within his cup. "Indeed. The balance of the forces is tipping. And we need someone to right that balance."

Mirori went silent. A veritable hail of different emotions flew across his eyes, an inner turmoil ripping at him. "...It's...because of them, isn't it?" the young man asks, half to Isov and half to no one in particular. Unconsciously, a hand brushed over the belt that held his Pokegirls.

Isov nodded once with a far off look in his own eyes. "Masters of Pokegirls are...unique amongst our order. They bring something new, something different. Something the old order has yet to fully embrace."

Several moments passed in silence. Mirori took a vicious bite out of another cookie. "Why...why me?"

"Well, Mirori, you are the only user of the Twilia Weave who is also a Tamer, and the council still holds the old beliefs of not using Pokegirls in the Wars. Despite the other groups using them..."

Strike one.

A glint of Mirori's eyes was the only signal the elder man gets. "Then tell those old coots to shove it. There's thousands of tamers out there. And thousands more Pokegirls to tame! So leave me alone and in peace with my 'girls!" he spat, jovial mood from earlier brutally shot down in favor of barely contained rage. A glow, eerily strong, burns from behind the younger man's spectacles and finally reveals his eye color.

An eerie, unearthly inner ring light pink that melts into a bloody red at his iris' edge.

One can only wince at the venom dripping at the words of one usually so cheery. And Isov, despite his years of experience, winced. He was only human, after all. "Mirori," he pleaded. "Understand that the bond between a Weave user, like yourself, and his or her Pokegirls is different to a normal Tamer's. The Bonds created at Taming somehow transfer the Weave's benefits to the Pokegirl in question...and you, of all people, would know the benefits of such. And the council's decision is final...further Tamers can't be added to bolster our forces."

His response were narrowed eyes and a spat response. "Tell it to someone else, Isov. You know I left behind the Academy and all the drama associated, a long, long time ago. It's been three years. Three years since I got my Tamer's license in secret. Three years since my sixteenth birthday. Three years since I graduated from that place. And three years since I left. The only reason I'm even talking to you...," he said, pausing for a moment while searching for the words to say. "The only reason I'm talking to you is because I know you more as a father figure, and not one of those...bastards. Let the wrinkle old jerk-offs fight their own war," Mirori said finally.

"It's never been as simple as that, Mirori. You know what will happen if the balance changes too much. The world will end as we..."

Strike Two.

Mirori shot up and slammed a fist onto the table, teeth grit in pure unadulterated anger. His eyes burned with an inner fire, fueled by the feelings that surged through him.

"Fuck that! Do you think it means anything to me? Have you heard any of my previous speech, Isov? I left for a reason. Why? Because all you old bastards can think of is to use my Pokegirls and I as weapons, Isov. Weapons. To the elders, I don't mean anything to them but a means to an end. If I die? Nope. No one gives a damn. Not only would I die for the furthering of someone else's goals, I would be used as an inanimate object would. Get it through your head, Isov: I'm tired of being the council's weapon! So just tell them to leave me well and alone, got it?"

Isov just...stared. The outburst was unexpected. Uncensored. Uncaring. He frantically searched for the words to use, something, anything he could use to persuade Mirori. And then he hit gold.

He sighed, feigning acceptance. "Your father would be so disappoin-,"

Ding ding ding! Strike three. You're out.

A whistling of air.

A smack of metal against face.

Isov sat, hand against his bruised face and the toppled chair and table near him, tea set and various confectionaries scattered across the ground, some broken, some not. He stared...just stared. Couldn't believe what Mirori had just done to him.

Mirori stood not four feet away, right arm oustretched at an angle behind him. Held within that hand was his ornate revolver, reinforced with a extra section of metal that extended from the frame around the bullet cylinder, parallel and connected to the barrel. Said extension was currently the source of the rather large bruise on Isov's face.

"...Dad?" he said calmly, more of a question than a statement. "Don't bullshit with me. Dad was the kindove person to always believe in your own ideals. And in leaving you to kindly go fuck yourself, Isov, I'm believing mine. Have a nice day. Oh! And tell the Council to go jack off into a cup, will you?"

And so Isov Numeran, Headmaster of the prestigious Lattice Academy for Mages, was smacked and told to kindly piss off by one Mirori Twilel, age 19 and graduate of said academy.

---
The year is 347 A.S. Dawnfall continent...a diverse and vast land where you can find pretty much anything. 347 years after Sukebe's Revenge, a horrid war that lasted for years. From that time onwards, a new breed of intelligent beings was forever integrated into mankind as we know it.

Pokegirls.

Female creatures with powers unmatched. Biological weapons created by Sukebe to take revenge on humanity, leading to a long and bitter war that wiped out most of humankind.

But here, in this continent, they were not the only things that emerged. Magicks ancient and powerful finally revealed themselves, bringing about a prophecy that had been stirring for millenia. Enforcers of the delicate elemental balance; a balance stirred and nigh broken by the creation of the Pokegirls. Within each of them lies the Runic magicks, otherwise known as the Weave, that makes them so unique. These Runes, which write themselves onto the very skins of their users, give them the strengths, weaknesses, and abilities of their patron element. It is this very Weave that forms the basis of the Wars. Even still, certain mages have taken to integrating the Pokegirls into the Wars, realizing that the old ways of the Elders will lead only to endless fighting. And thus the strange relationship between Pokegirls and the Weave began, the younger generation realizing that certain benefits of the Weave transferring through the bond and into their 'girls. With that discovery, a new chapter of the Wars began.

But still the Elders persist, refusing to accept Pokegirls as a way to end the war. They were arrogant; they believed their power sufficient even after so many years of endless combat. Only now, in these tumultous years, have they realized that these Pokegirls are the only way to end this conflict once and for all.

At the heart of this longlasting battle, though, were the five Manifests. Five seperate groups, each devoted to the individual elements. Each with their own agendas, own powers, own methods.
 
The Infernis, the Order of Flame, manipulators of fire who seek to engulf the world in an eternal blaze.

The Piquarian, the Circle of Water, masters of the sea itself who's goal entails the drowning of all who live.

The Aethfer, they of Wind's Desire, whisperers of air who wish to plunge the world in an everlasting vacuum.

The Luminic, Lords of the Above, callers of thunder who want nothing more but the greatest storm the world has ever seen.

And finally the Abyll, Weavers of Twilight, users of both light and dark who are the most powerful of all, but the least numerous. Their true goals remain unknown even to themselves, at times. The machinations of their Elders can only be speculated.

These five groups of mages had gone, and have gone, unknown for years. But as Sukebe's Revenge and the Red Plague cut down their already low numbers to nigh extinction, they were forced to act.

Now they lay in wait, recruiting from behind the scenes for the great Element Wars that will engulf this already hectic world in the greatest battle they have ever seen. From Tamers to those who carry the potential for their magicks, all will eventually be caught up in the storm of the Wars.

This is the story of Mirori Twilel, youngest of the Abyll mages and someone who would like nothing more than to leave that all behind.

-Merk's Firearms and Munitions, Briarleaf Market District-
"7 inch barrel, top break loading, seven shot double action, .454 Casull, rubber Hogue grip, adjustable sights, accessory rail on top of the barrel, titanium-aluminum alloy, special frame extension for close combat, and that magic mumbo-jumbo ya wrote into this beauty...god damn Mirori, no matter how many times I see this thing I can't help but admire it," praised Merk Brenson, owner of the weapons store Mirori currently found himself in.

Mirori chuckled nervously. "Um, thanks Merk...but as fun as you rattling off the specs on my gun is, I'd like it if you finished that maintenance check soon."

The middle aged man laughed heartily. "Oh, she's fine. You take good care of her, Mirori. Good care. Haven't seen a gun in such good condition after heavy combat in years," Merk said proudly, beaming with happiness. "You take real good care of her," he repeated, before bursting into hearty laughter once more.

Mirori joined the gun-dealer in his laughing, but with a great deal more reserve. '...no wonder the guy has a Gunvalkyrie, Mini-top, and Gunbunny in his Harem. Not to mention having a Romanticide, which makes guns...' mused the former Abyll mage. 'Though he is likeable...past the gun obsession.'

Truth be told, Briarleaf Town was and continues to be one of Mirori's major stops on his various treks across the continent, thanks to his Wanderer blood curse. Merk himself was the only person Mirori ever came to check up on his gun and stock up and ammo. Mostly because, as a former convict himself, Merk knew how to keep quiet. And the ability to keep quiet was exactly what Mirori needed in friends.

Within the blink of an eye, though, Merk's expression went from cheery to slightly angry. "But you do know how much of a bitch it is to get 7 round, .454 Casull Mana-Charger moon-clips, right Mir?" he seethed, a tangible aura of...well...anger radiating from him.

Mirori laughed nervously, something he always did a lot when in Merk's presence. "Y-yeah, I do...," he replied shakily.

"Good!" said Merk, suddenly happy again. "Usual, then? 10 clips and a tune-up?"

The mage nodded, mostly undisturbed by the aura change from 'nigh-uncontrollable anger' to 'happy-go-lucky.' He had wondered before whether Merk had been bailed out of the asylum, rather than prison; that sort of wondering had led only to confusion. He knew better now than to question Merk about his past life.

"Alrighty then, I'll be in the back then. Yell if something happens," cheerily said Merk, opening a door and disappearing behind it, taking Mirori's revolver with it.

'Past being snuck up on, held at gunpoint, and interrogated for some obscure tidbit of firearm information, I don't exactly think I'll need to call if you're going to be gone for about...oh...say...ten minutes?' Mirori noted to himself with a smile. He tilted backwards, leaning on the wall behind him. His eyes trailed to the display window and he watched, keeping silent vigil over the passing people and Pokegirls.

A tall woman with long, thick black hair, dull black eyes, odd mechanical fin-like extensions where her ears, and dressed in a simple white shirt and jeans walked in, carrying a number of large firearms Mirori recognized as various large calibered hunting and self-defense rifles. She went to an empty rack in the corner of the shop, taking a firearm and placing it inside the wooden furniture item. She ensured it was secure for a moment, adjusting the various grips in the rack, before moving on to the next gun. Each movement was slow, methodical, and told of either practice or skill.

After placing the final firearm inside the rack, she dusted off her arms and wiped her fingers on a dirty rag. The woman then turned her neck, and nothing else, faced Mirori and just...stared. The mage lasted a moment before he turned away on reflex, amazed and somewhat disturbed at just how dull those eyes were. He blinked, realizing something, and looked back, noticing a semi-automatic pistol strapped to her thigh. Within seconds of noticing the gun, he realized this odd woman was actually Merk's Gunvalkyrie.

She turned back to him again, bowed once, and disappeared into the back of the shop, where Merk was.

Mirori sighed and returned to his observing, noticing with a raised eyebrow a slight drizzle of rain had begun to fall with the autumn leaves, despite still sunny skies.

'A red rain...something that's going to be happening a lot more if the Wars don't stop soon.'

----
"Feel free to come again whenever, Mir!" said Merk, waving heartily with his Gunvalkyrie by his side.

"Will do Merk." responded Mirori, some ten meters away, waving before turning to leave.

The drizzle of rain had escalated somewhat, becoming a light shower. The Abyll mage looked up at the greying sky for a brief moment, watching the tiny drops of water fall. With a shrug, he pulled up his hood and continued walking. The path back down to the Main Market District area, where people had set up their stands and stores, was well worn and unpaved. Not a whole lot of people really came in person to buy guns, oddly.

Small paths lead to other houses and stores along the roadside, some closed and others not. Some people rushed into their homes, some merely brought out umbrellas, and others didn't even bother to mind the rain.

Mirori didn't mind it at all.

The rain hid whatever needed to be hidden, washed away whatever needed to be washed.

Mirori? He had a lot of things he'd like to wash away.

All those years of blindly being led by the Abyll, learning to fight for things he didn't believe in.

Deprived of parents at the impressionable young age of four.

Ostricized for the strength of his Weave not two years later.

A past (despite knowledge of people with worse) Mirori would rather just leave the hell behind.

He sighed, realizing he was brooding on things best left alone again...then blinked.

'I am not on the path anymore...joy.'

"Well what do we have here, boys?" someone sneered, voice deep and nasally.

"Seems like someone wandered a little far...," another continued.

'...I am really starting to hate my life.'

Mirori slowly brought his hands above his head, noticing out of the corner of his eyes three men who...glowed. Glowed a very, very light orange, but glowed nontheless. One short, thin, and fidgety. Another of medium height but great weight, shirt two sizes too small for him. And the final one: Huge, muscle bound, silent, stoic, and immediately registered in Mirori's head as the most dangerous.

"Look, I don't want trouble. If you just leave me alone..."

"What kinda dumbasses do you take us for?" said the fat one, nicknamed, appropriately, as Fatass by Mirori. "If that doesn't work in the shows, what the hell makes ya think it'll work here?"

The smaller one, nicknamed by Mir as Fidget, snickered to himself while the brute, hereby named as Jumbo, remained silent with arms crossed over his chest.

Mirori remained still as Fatass brought out a lead pipe, holding it one hand with a sneer. The Abyll mage heard Fidget move behind him and the distinctive 'shnk' of a switchblade. "Let's find out what you keep in that bag, shall we?" said the shorter man, behind Mirori and poking him with the tip of the knife, right in the spine.

"Let's not!" yelled Mirori with a sudden twist and an elbow to Fidget's face; something that made him inwardly grin as he heard and felt something crack. The shorter man dropped his knife and stepped back a few steps, holding his damaged face.

"F-fuck!" Fidget swore. From the side Fatass roared and struck with his lead pipe in a heavy, overhanded swing. Mirori managed to leap to the side, but then Jumbo got to him, grabbing him by the arm and flinging him into the hard, alley wall.

The former Abyll mage grit his teeth and slid down the wall, falling into a rough sitting position. '...okay. Really starting to hate my life.'

"You have no idea who the fuck you're dealing with, kid!" seethed Fatass.

"Ever hear of the Infernis, punk?" said Fidget, punching a fist into the palm of the other hand.

The slight, orange glow Mirori had noticed before magnified, becoming a multi-colored blaze of red, orange, and yellow. Lines of a fierce scarlet wrote themselves into the skins of Fidget and Fatass, filling them with unnatural energy. Their eyes now glowed in the dark of the alley, whatever colors they were now becoming a glowing, baleful orange.

"Blaze Threads," they said together, bathing in the flood of power

Mirori grew silent. The two thugs laughed evilly. "What? Scared, punk? Ya better damn well be!" laughed Fidget.

They laughed long and hard for a good minute, but Jumbo noticed something. Noticed something bad.

"...and here I thought you guys were just normal street muggers. Or rapists. Wouldn't put it past you," said Mirori, slow and without emotion.

Fidget and Fatass both cried simultaneously, "What did you say!?" and made to rush forward, but Jumbo held them both back with a hard grip on the shoulders.

"I said I thought you were just normal street thugs and or rapists. But you're Weavers. That...that makes all the difference," muttered Mirori, slowly getting up. His hood, damp with rain, shaded his eyes. The purple spectacles as he rose and said, "You...you have no idea what it's like. Every fight I get into and I can't do anything, because I might break them. Might hurt them farther than it's possible to fix. But with you three...there's no need to hold back."

Power.

Indescribable power.

The illumination, scant as it was, began to fluctuate. Sometimes becoming brighter, as though one had lit a candle; other times it flickered into pitch black. But through it all, whether pitch dark or eerily lit, Mirori could be seen. For those same runes that had written themselves into the skins of his adversaries now shone through his clothing: thick lines of glowing black and white, curling around his body like a mass of snakes. Whisps of ebony and ivory came off his form; the smoke to a burning bomb. And at his side was his revolver, glinting madly in the flucuating light.

Mirori rose his head. The motion revealed glowing eyes which left trails of light with each movement, like glowsticks.

"Blaze Threads...meet Twilia Weave."

They were given not a seconds warning before Mirori burst into action, swiftly drawing his revolver with the left hand and socking Fidget in the face with his right. Pushing a little harder gave Mirori the means to send the small man flying with that same punch and spin, narrowly dodging the second overhead pipe attack from Fatass. The spin came full turn, ending up with Mirori facing the same direction he faced before...and a revolver in Fatass' face.

There was no hesitation. Just a pull of a trigger.

BANG!

Fatass fell to the floor hard, pipe discarded and completely still.

Jumbo smirked and let his arms fall to his side. "Magick shots, ey?" he wondered, eyeing the mostly unharmed form of Fatass with interest.

Mirori raised an eyebrow amusedly, flicking his left hand and opening the revolver. The chambers were empty. "I don't exactly keep this thing loaded all the time," he replied, flicking the gun shut before pointing it at Jumbo with a smirk. "Not that I really need to." At that, a small white and black orb formed at the end of the barrel, sparking ever so slightly with mana.

The larger male grinned this time, reaching to his belt to retrieve two red-white spheres. "Twilia Weave or not, you're going down. I can't just let you go for taking out both my cronies." He pressed the spheres for a moment, grinning wider as they expanded. "Do you know what happens when a Weaver makes a Bond with a Pokegirl, Abyll Mage? The Pokegirl gets use of the Weave to an extent as well. And even if you do have the Twilia Weave, you ain't stopping Lucy and Mariyl here...come on out!" he said, throwing the Pokeballs at Mirori.

Mirori flashed a handsign with his right hand. Mana gathered around and coated him in a shroud of black before he melted away into the darkness of his own shadow, reappearing behind a dumpster.

The 'ball released the Pokegirl within in a bright flash of light which eventually receded, revealing Jumbo's chosen combatant.

The first had hair of a firey red-yellow, wavy and seemingly moving with each breath like a true flame. Her skin was of a vibrant red, and Mirori saw well enough the yellow lines written into her skin. But strangest of all were two, massive bat like wings and a large tail, each engraved with the Weave's power. A roaring flame burned at the edge of the Pokegirl's tail.

By her side was a slightly shorter girl, though just as intimidating. Her entire body was ablaze and obscured her form, though Mirori was able to make out ash grey eyes set within a stony glare and straight, blond hair, nigh invisible in the flames. He couldn't see them, but Mirori knew well enough the Blaze Threads were present on this 'girl as well.

"Scared yet?" said Jumbo, strapping on a steel gauntlet etched with red runes. There was a confident grin on his face.

Something Mirori sought to wipe off.

He emerged from the shadows of the dumpster, revolver pointed at Jumbo. "No. Not really," he replied nonchalantly, revealing two pokeballs of his own in his right hand. "You're not the only one with Pokegirl's, dumbass." And with that he threw them to the sky, smirking ever so slightly as they opened and sent down their beams of light, revealing Mirori's chosen combatants.

The same tall pokegirl from before appeared in the dwindling light, flicking aside a stray strand of hair that had fallen in front of her eyes. Metal armor now covered her form, runes of Mirori's Twilia Weave etched into the armor and whatever skin she had exposed. A long spear was held by her side. She flicked her tail and flexed her steely wings; wings which glowed magnificently with the light of the Weave. "You called, Master?" she asked. Her eyes locked with the other winged Pokegirl, a glaring contest of wills beginning.

To her left appeared a slightly shorter girl with wild brown hair, an animalistic grin, and a playful glint in her eyes. Waving behind her was a dog-like tail, and twitching atop her head were two matching ears. Around each of her fingers were thick, metal rings. The Twilia Weave's runes glowed through her clothes, a simple white blouse and loose cargoes, and glowed just as brightly on her exposed skin. "What's up Mirori?" she said, her voice not unlike a childs', curious and mischievous.

Mirori smiled and walked up to stand between them, enjoying the look of slackjawed surprise on Jumbo's face. "Nothing much Amisthia, Liliu. Just an Infernis thug thinking he can take us on," he stated simply, sliding a hand into his pocket and pointing his revolver at Jumbo once more. The Weave flared with power, bathing the two Pokegirls and their Master in black and white light. "Considering we're both Tamers, lets make this a full on Pokegirl match. Grand Melee sound good to you, Jumbo?" Mirori asked.

Jumbo grit his teeth and tightened his grip on that steel gauntlet, both his Pokegirls taking ready positions beside him. "The name's Fren, wimp, and you're on!" he said, running in with the burning 'girl right behind him. The winged one flew up into the sky and gathered her fire for an aerial attack, if her flaring tail flame was anything to measure by.

Mirori grinned in response. "Amisythia, hold up the one in the sky. Liliu, take care of the other one," he ordered before rushing in, revolver blasting three magick shots in quick succession while a sphere of black gathered in his other hand. Amisythia, the Blessed Medra, took flight and rushed after Lucy, the Whorizard, with spear ready for combat. Liliu, the Wolf Queen, grinned and morphed to her Battle Form. Within seconds she was a eight foot monstrosity of fur and claw, brass rings expanded to accomadate the size up. She ran on all fours, running into a different alley with her runes, both her breed runes and the Twilia Weave, pulsing with power. Mariyl, the Magmammary, pursued, flinging several Fireballs after her.

The Infernis mage cursed and glared at his two 'girls, realizing he was fighting against Mirori alone. Fen's gauntlet suddenly, violently jerked to his side; results of a magic bullet ricocheting off it.

Mirori held his revolver before him, barrel smoking and pointed down. "You need to pay better attention to your opponents...and looks like you're alone, ey?" Mirori taunted.

The fight was on.