A shot impacted the rock behind which sat crouched a red-headed woman in a suit and thick-heeled boots, her hair tied up into a tight bun. White gloves grasped a revolver, held ready, though she dared not poke her head out yet, hawkish, dark brown eyes closing tight against the subsequent wash of intense flame that exploded from the magicked bullet. The delay was intentional, the fair-skinned woman knew, intended to draw her from her cover prematurely; she knew better from her opponent.
The shot and the roar of the flames echoed off across the coast, momentarily drowning out the sound of the sea far below. The cliffs were hardly the best place for a duel, especially one of this magnitude, but that had, of course been the point: she was at a severe disadvantage, a single rock for cover and the cliffs to her back. The choices were to jump out into the line of fire or to take her own life by plunging down to the sand yalms below.
She feinted, uttering a spell as she drew a single card from her suit’s jacket pocket which was lined with arcane geometries, to produce an illusory duplicate of herself that stood and took aim. A shot rang out, as expected, and it whizzed through the head of the duplicate, right at the throat - exactly what she needed.
Nicole Sol, known more often as Nico, waited scarcely another moment before pulling back the hammer on her gilded black firearm and, whispering a command word, leaned up over the rock and fired a shot downrange. The bullet screamed as the geometries burned upon it by the revolver lit up, a white aethereal tracer cutting a line through the air toward a smaller cliff a short ways up the hill inland.
Though her assailant had long since fallen prone, taking advantage of the higher ground, the bullet she fired was not meant to strike flesh, but the dirt and stone beneath. It struck true, indeed, several fulms below the grassy hilltop. However, unlike the previous shot that she had weathered behind her cover, this bore no delay, the bullet’s spell activating with a deafening sonic boom which tore through the earth with devastating concussive force.
There he was. Tora’ji Polaali, a miqo’te man with, Nico had known for years, an intense hatred for the woman, had sought to launch a surprise attack on her here to put an end to their rivalry once and for all. Nico had willingly walked into the trap, confident that she could emerge the victor. That confidence remained, even as a bead of sweat rolled down her temple. The rustle of the man’s white coat, its violet pattern of concentric circles like chains and its silver buckles, his short black hair and dark ashen features became visible with the destruction of the ground beneath him. However, as he dove away from the eruption of dirt and stone, the glint of those violet shades he’d always worn tipped Nico off to the fact that she’d been spotted again. With a quick motion, he slammed down the hammer of his own revolver, barked his own command word, and fired.
The resulting shot had Nico ducking for cover once more as the shot multiplied tenfold, a rain of ammunition impacting all around her. If she’d been a second later, she would’ve been riddled with wounds, the duplicated bullets fading and leaving her to bleed out. She had no intention of letting this happen, nor did it. Instead, she used the time that Tora’ji would use to try getting to cover himself to rush further uphill.
As she leapt out of her cover, however, another command word caught her attention, even as the heavy footfalls of the man’s dark-plated boots tore grass up behind him as he sprinted for a new place to hide. Nico recognised it immediately as a seeking shot, meant to curve toward her; the spell would make it much more likely to hit her while they ran.
With the selfsame command word spoken hastily, she pivoted, diving for the indentation in the hill that she had created, and fired a seeking shot of her own. With both bullets magicked to arc toward their targets, they came dangerously close, their seeking magic like opposed magnets, causing them to spiral out of control and create a temporary vortex of aethereal currents that, upon its expiry, left the projectiles falling harmlessly to the ground.
Though neither hit their mark, Tora’ji and Nico had both still achieved their goal in this instance, Tora’ji to find new cover and Nico to gain even ground. There was a long pause before, finally, the man’s youthful voice shouted across the silence to her.
“I know you came here knowing I’d ambush you, Sol,” he shouted, his tone strained and breath short, but still somewhat calm - the man was yet to lose his cool - despite the ongoing firefight, “Out here, though? That hubris won’t help you. You’re no Conservator. You’re a glorified bloody bodyguard for an airhead of a Philosopher.”
“So you’ve said countless times, Tora’ji,” Nico shot back, breathing heavily from the sprint, but otherwise unruffled, herself, “Do you have aught to say that might actually interest me, or can we continue trying to kill one another?”
The answer was another crack of the man’s revolver and a wash of flame that rendered the earth around her blackened and singed, devoid of its greenery. Thankfully, the cover held. The Conservator’s response was quick and ruthless, no command word spoken as she used the time to reload her revolver, leaning out of her cover again to fan the hammer of her revolver, firing six shots in rapid succession as the glint of her self-proclaimed rival’s sunglasses came around the corner of a larger rock just across the hill a ways.
There was silence for a time after, during which Nico had ducked back into that hole in the cliff side. She had heard no response to the salvo - not of pain nor of retreat - and it gave her pause. Had he managed to anticipate her? There was no time to ponder, and so, instead, she decided to investigate the silence. Drawing the same card from before and conjuring another illusory duplicate that went sprinting out of her cover, she stomped her feet for the first few seconds of its flight, hoping to draw fire, back to the dirt and an ear open to listen.
In the next instant, she had her answer. However, it came in the form of another flame wave that hit at the feet of the duplicate as it fled, kicking up dirt and charred vegetation. Tora’ji had seemed to anticipate even the illusion, attempting to create a temporary disruption so that his flight further uphill, which had been silent until that point, would remain unimpeded. She hardly needed him poking out from over top of her, and so she fled, as well, using the man’s own distraction tactic to her advantage.
“Got you!” came the miqo’te’s voice, and, in the next moment, even as Nico took that queue to lunge out of the way, the blinding pain of a bullet impacted her right side, thankfully dampened by her suit’s enchantments and the armoured carbonweave vest beneath the jacket. It still hurt, though, causing her to stumble and gasp for breath, her ribs pounding with pain just for another bullet to soar past her head. The second shot would have hit her if she hadn’t partially-doubled over, and so, she pushed herself and kept running, pulling back the hammer on her revolver and firing blindly in the direction of Tora’ji’s voice to try and buy herself some time.
Whether by luck or some divine providence, she heard a hiss of pain at her fourth shot. Though the Keeper of the Moon that was gunning for her had similar protections, she managed to keep the score even, as it were, as she managed to make her way to the top of the hill, ducking behind a tree.
“You’re not gonna kill me with shots like that, Sol!” he snarled, pain evident in his voice. Had she wounded him enough to break his stride that much? She smirked a bit despite the continued pounding in her ribs. The bullet with which he’d struck her was still lodged in her suit jacket, and, much as it vexed her to allow it to remain, she let it; despite her commitment to her appearance, her life - and victory over a long-time thorn in her side - was far more important.
She didn’t respond to him, instead just using his taunts to keep tabs on him. He’d always been mouthy, and, as much as she and her partner, Odellia, enjoyed playful banter during confrontation to keep up morale, it was always simply too much, too melodramatic.
Silence ensued again, and, she determined, he was looking for her. She’d lost him. If she hadn’t, he’d have immolated her cover long ago. The tree wouldn’t last to such a blast at he’d prepared for her. Checking her remaining bullets in the pouch hidden beneath her jacket at her belt, she frowned. She’d only three shots left, not counting the two in her revolver. She loaded the remaining three in and took a long breath.
It was just as Tora’ji had planned. It was a long game he’d been playing. First, he’d separate her from Odellia, using the Philosopher’s errand to deliver her report to his advantage. While she was back in the Sharlayan motherland, he’d arranged for a falsified report to demand Nico’s attention: an anomaly in Vylbrand was reported, remnants of the Calamity not moons ago causing an upheaval on the eastern coast to the far south of Costa del Sol. He’d slipped into her inn room just before she was to leave to investigate, depriving her of all she didn’t immediately have on her person: her spare ammunition, her aetheryte pass, her money, and her linkpearls. Though he didn’t get her revolver or the ammunition she’d had on her person while she was at the front desk, dealing with a complaint lodged against her for “suspicious activity” with the Yellowjackets, she’d been completely deprived of all but her firearm and a handful of bullets. With the Yellowjackets performing an investigation of her room and time running short, she had no choice but to appear where Tora’ji lay in wait to ambush her. It had all dripped of his underhanded sabotage, but she’d little choice. She knew he’d have gone through the investigation agency’s reports linkshell, and, when she’d been assigned, she’d play into his hands whether she went or not.
It had been like that for years. Ever since she had been promoted to Conservator, partnered with Odellia - at the time, a budding, but prodigal, Philosopher - and assigned to keep her safe both through assuring her silence on the motherland’s closely-guarded secrets and as an asset, herself. The pink-haired woman impressed her from the start, her apparent spaciness a very clever and convincing front that concealed one of the sharpest women she’d known in a long time. However, Tora’ji had his eye on her, too, and when Nico was promoted from their shared position as Observer to Conservator, then, just moons later, began dating the woman, he became enraged. He began to deny his fondness for Odellia and became hostile to both her and the red-headed Conservator, often sabotaging their jobs, even succeeding, at first. For the first year of Nico’s career as a Conservator, she was constantly in danger of being sent to remedial training or, worse, terminated. After a while, though, she got wise, avoiding the pitfalls her so-called rival had been setting for her, forcing him to engage in a longer, more drawn-out game. This was to be the final scene for it, she knew. Nearly two years had passed, and not even the Calamity in Eorzea stopped him.
It all came down to this moment. She knew she could still gain the upper hand, and, while she was yet unseen, she peeked out toward the last direction she’d heard his voice. However, just as she did, another shot rang out, and, though she managed to avoid taking a worse hit, the shot glanced off of her revolver, the next seeking shot arcing right into its side. The impact wrenched the firearm from Nico’s grasp, the weapon clattering to the ground as she flinched back behind the tree.
Tora’ji laughed triumphantly. “You know, that might’ve been my last shot,” he taunted, walking up the hill in plain view, “if you weren’t such a generous sort.” He opened the cylinder on his own revolver and begin reloading with Nico’s stolen ammunition.
“Now why don’t you come out before that poor little tree turns into a charcoal with you,” he snarled, holding the revolver level and leering over his sunglasses at her. That was that. She had no choice. If she dove for her weapon, the explosion from his firebrand would cook her alive, and if she stayed behind that tree, she was just as helpless as she’d be facing him.
With a resigned sigh, she held her hands up in a motion of surrender and paced out into the open, a stoic expression on her face. She took a long breath and tensed as the miqo’te pulled down the hammer and barked his command word once more. With a brilliant flash and a burst of flame, all Nico could see was fire as the man’s revolver exploded in his hand, sending him reeling backward, just barely escaping his own fireball.
Nico quirked a brow, hawkish brown eyes watching as the plume dispersed. Though he was mostly unharmed thanks to the enchantments he had on his own gear, rendering him untouchable to his own spells, her was clearly stunned, and his firearm was blown to pieces on the ground before him.
“How-?!” he sputtered, looking at his hands in disbelief, rubbing fingers to palms to rid himself of the explosion’s residue, “You-! You did that! You-”
“Knew,” Nico finished, adjusting her gloves and finally pulling that troublesome bullet from the magicked weave of her suit jacket, the hole mending itself as soon as the intrusive piece of metal was removed. “Yes. You give O too little credit. Before she left, she befouled the powder in those bullets you stole from me."
“What? They’re... they’re duds?” he asked, straightening up, rigid in shock.
“Of course. Though, that you had to overdo it and attempt a spellshot with foreign ammunition is your own folly,” she replied, brushing off her shoulders, walking calmly toward the miqo’te, who responded by reaching to his belt and drawing a hunting knife, snarling defiantly.
“Fuck it. I don’t need a gun to kill you, Sol.”
“I beg to differ.”
With a howl of rage, the rancorous Observer charged Nico. Bringing the knife up to attempt a slash across her neck, he found himself blocked as the Conservator had seamlessly brought up a hand to strike his forearm, stopping the swing short and sending a shock up his arm. With her right, she brought a fist to his chest, the impact leaving him gasping for air. Trying to recover, the miqo’te flipped the knife and brought it down from overhead in an attempt to stab her, only to have the woman slip around to his side and bring an elbow to the back of his head.
“Ungh...! I won-” he started to say, but was cut off as he whirled around by the hell of a boot colliding with this side of his face, knocking him unceremoniously to the ground, where he barely caught himself on all fours. His sunglasses came free of his head, previously held within his hair, rather than on his ears, given his anatomy, making them far too easy to dislodge. The man hissed, bright sunlight causing his nocturnally-attuned jade eyes to squint despite his efforts to keep them open.
“You waste far too much time talking.”
Turning on her heel, Nico made for her gun, walking at a rather patient pace. With Tora’ji scrambling for his lost eyewear, she was under no pressure to recover her revolver quickly, even as he recovered and came charging her again.
“Don’t turn your back to me, damn you!” he yelled, but, as he got close, the red-headed Conservator dropped to the ground, scooping up her revolver, turning on the spot, and fanning the hammer, a knee to the ground.
The first shot went wide. The second just barely grazed the man’s leg. However, the third impacted his hip, throwing him for a loop. The fourth hit higher, slamming into his arm as it came down due to his wild stumbling. The fifth and last shot she had, however, also went completely wide when Tora’ji let himself drop to the ground, rather than keep stumbling, dropping into a roll that brought him within striking distance with that knife of his.
Nico huffed in annoyance, her calm disrupted slightly as she launched herself backward to avoid him and stand up straight. She clipped her revolver into its holster and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. Taking a long breath, she held her ground, Tora’ji springing back to his own feet and charging her again with that knife.
He swung hard for her side, and she hopped to the side with the swing, carrying herself out of its range while giving herself more time to avoid it. In the gap left by the enraged strike, she charged forward and brought a palm up for the Observer’s face. The base of her palm impacted his nose, and, with a sickening crunch, he staggered back with a scream, a stream of blood pouring down his face and staining his shirt and jacket.
“Augh! By face! You bitch!” he roared, sounding as if he’d suddenly developed a nasty cold. However, before he could recover enough to make another move, the toe of Nico’s boot hit him beneath the chin, snapping his head backward and sending him onto his back as she hit again with the sole, shoving him hard.
With Tora’ji on the ground, she stomped down hard on the wrist of the hand holding that knife, causing him to release it before she kicked it away from him.
“Kill be,” he said, still holding his bleeding, broken nose with the other hand, staring hatefully at her from the ground, eyes watery behind those sunglasses of his, “add Sharlayad will doh. You’ll be a pariah. Burderig a fellow Idvestigator.”
Nico shook her head, a small, amused smile forming as he spoke. “You’re really a lot less threatening when you sound like you should be abed with a hot water bottle and some medicine.”
“You broke by doze!” he howled in indignation, met only by a nod. “Fide. Do it.”
“Oh, doh- ah, pardon. Oh no. I’m... quite alright,” she said, readjusting her gloves, shaking off the bit of blood from her right hand, the glove magically pristine once more afterward, “After all, you’ve talent. It’s just wasted on pettiness. Killing you would still be a waste of life. I’m, frankly, against it.”
“You sdide little...” he muttered, pausing, as if in thought before he backed off a ways, rifling through his pockets before pulling out Nico’s stolen linkpearl and speaking into it, “This is Tora’j-”
He was cut off as the pearl glinted brightly, bursting next to his ear with such force that bits of his skull went flying from his head, his sunglasses dislodged once more. With blood pouring down his head from the missing chunk the rigged linkpearl took from him, his fingers blown to ribbons, the miqo’te fell to the ground with a heavy thud, dead.
Nico took a long breath and sighed, stepping forward to pick up the fallen shades. She looked at them for a long time, closed the arms, and slipped them onto her jacket pocket. Reaching up to an ornate earring, she activated the hidden linkpearl within it.
“Observer Tora’ji Polaali has been confirmed killed in action,” she said calmly as she drew a small prismatic crystal from a black silken pouch in her jacket, “Target eliminated. I’ll begin cleanup immediately and prepare my own report.”
With a flick of her wrist, she cast the fire crystal toward him, and, as it impacted him, the body combusted in a flash of brilliant, white arcane flame, burning away enchantment, armour and all. Within time, naught remained of Tora’ji Polaali, save for his sunglasses.
This would call for an aesthetic change, for sure. She’d earned it.
