The Bellators

4:8:4

 While the leader of the Bellators fought far ahead, his team still lingers all the way back at the training room, still caught in the tornado of the army all congealed in this one room, as despite the evacuation of the leader, it was still their secondary objective to exterminate the intruders. With the sizable mob still remaining in the car as more come in through the door, there was no shortage of those tasked with this objective, though a few of them are shot down from golden energy bolts from above, and those who squeeze through the barrage are swarmed in a field of pink electric arcs that freeze their bodies, subjecting them to be risen off their feet as they fight to move even a muscle before being thrown backwards.

Those who run past the fields are then met by a far more rapid barrage of golden shots, these ones firing from the golden conal cannon of the arm of the Artificer who stands at the front, keeping her ground well guarded as golden tentacles emerged from her back project panels that function as shields which ward off incoming fire.

These panels also protect the source of those aforementioned pink arcs, that being the Vanguard who guides her fields with her arms, throwing them back so they could all inch forward more, though the space they've gained has been minimal.

Still they push onwards, all alongside the Alchemist who does follow, though oddly enough he doesn't show the same interest in the battle. Instead of being his joyous self, blasting mindlessly and quipping in fun play, here he stands silent, frowning in contemplation, stunned.

Through his eyes he watches the battle unfold before him, his allies battling his enemies, shots traded and supernatural manifestations exercised on each other. So many enemies, the scale of a true Emperor if not greater, for this was the true scale of an organized pirate force: not just a simple rag tag group but instead a whole army capable of rivaling the governments who backed off as a result.

Watching through those yellow irises, the man understood he had yet to recognize a single one of these lowly bandits he's shot at, for they may as well lack a name, a background, a life. They were simply target practice, or rather games for him to play, targets he had no emotional connection to thus he could find joy out of senselessly dropping them one after another. And perhaps in relative speech, nearly everyone he's faced has been faceless goons for him to put down. In fact had it not been the influence he's gained from an old ally now gone, he likely would've ranked a great deal of true fatalities, for his arsenal was truly designed with lethality in mind, and using it in a way that simply neutralized his enemies was if anything more of a struggle yet one he endured regardless. Regardless he still left many bodies agonized and bruised, for the minds of those bodies he didn't care for, nor did he think he would for any who'd be on board this vessel he'd previously not been privy to.

Yet now before him doesn't simply stand a random group of pirates, perhaps large but with no personal affiliations, rather the goons he's been fighting through with the rest of the team have truthfully been all part of a group led by a man he knew, and judging off his reactions, a man he did not wish to be on the opposite side of a fight with.

Even if perhaps he was not directly engaging with the leader, the simple act of partaking in this battle no longer could be done with the former bliss, the bliss that the rest of the team, normally who'd be known to be more cautious than him, are still able to envelop themselves in. Thus while his two allies have not had even a fraction of his experience when confronting enemies of the Outer Rim, they were the ones engaged in full battle while he just stood back and watched in silence, watching them continue to march forwards, dropping bodies as they struggled to stand on their own feet.

Side by side the Vanguard and Artificer stood, though as more gunshots come from the upper platforms with little resistance, the Artificer grunts and transforms both of her conal cannons back to the shape of hands, clawed but no longer able to fire any bolts as she lets her tentacles handle that temporarily. Instead she flings her right hand to the side, all five of her golden fingers detaching right off freakishly as she determines in her synthetic voice entirely calm, "Here, they'll protect you," as reference to those five fingers each of which suddenly burst into an expansion of golden strands that multiply and expand in the shape of double helixes, helixes that reshape themselves in air to form a torso at the core from which expands four limbs and a head, as in just a second the five fingers transform each into golden specters, all of their bodies similar in that they're made of gold and lack a face, yet there is a noticeable difference in that the royal design of the diamonds is not as prominent, allowing the main host to be pronounced.