middleofsomewhere | The Will to Fight: Finale: All teams

The Will to Fight: Finale: All teams

The Far Gate

Given that people have scouted ahead, it will be no surprise when those who arrive at the Red objective find an army of demons there. Unlike the other packs they have encountered, these ones are not roaming, and don't appear to be heading towards the city. Instead, they are guarding something.

A gate. It is larger than the others they have seen so far by an order of magnitude, and if there are this many demons outside, the keystone must be guarded just as well.

For those who are actually on the red team their SCA will flash up a message: This gate has multiple keystones. It is the focal point for other gates closer to the city. Close it.

Around the City

In the Caverns

Once the rockfall was cleared, those that wished to could make their way back towards the city. They might come across demons on the way, small packs scouting the land and hunting survivors, but for the most part their way will be clear until they get to the city and to the Voidtrecker camp.

For everyone else, there are plenty of non-combatants that need protecting. The cavern itself remains warded against demons, but patrols still pass and keeping everyone safe and hidden is important.

Almost all the citizens have thrown off the mind control now. Some of the younger children have started having nightmares, and keeping everyone positive and calm is harder than it was before with a goal in sight.

In the City

The sigils hum and glow. For those feeding them power it's a very long couple of days; though once the monks are free they join in, brusquely waving off any questions or concern about their wellbeing to focus on the task at hand: protecting the city. They will of course accept any extra energy. The wards are not meant to go out completely, it will take a lot of energy to restart them.

By the eleventh day it is clear something else is wrong. Some of the focus stones on the city walls are out of place, either knocked awry in the battles before the false peace, or sabotaged by demons. Either way, for the wards to fully activate they will need those not giving energy to go out onto the walls, to find the stones and align them. It's not too technical but might be dangerous, because outside the walls, a fight is about to begin…

The Battle for the City

The attacks have gotten more frequent but on the evening of day ten they stop. Silence. No gates open, no demons attack. The whole night is spent in a tense, almost eerie silence.

It is broken at dawn the next day, two massive gates open, one to the north of the city and one to the south. Demons march out, heading towards the city.

Not just demons, they each have two large structures, siege machines. It seems they wish to knock this city down completely, securing their victory over the humans.

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It was too quiet for anyone's comfort, and the tension that spread throughout camp was nothing short of heavy. It nestled between spaces of worried glances and suspicious patrols that knew this peace would be short-lived; knew there was going to be something surprising them sooner than later. It's always darkest before the dawn.

But he ignores whatever gut feeling comes with the territory of holding the line. For he is in no position to question whatever shade of luck they gathered after a whole week of trying to keep the city safe. Horde after horde, tired even after snatching moments of rest; Erda poses one of the hardest missions Roland's ever had to come across in both lifetimes. The skirmishes of Evermore were never this gruesome. They lasted a day or two before Evan managed to break enemy formation. And where was Roland during the war that broke out between the four nations of the realm and the army of the undead, summoned by the stolen souls from Doloran's cusp? On top of Lofty, a massive dragon riding into the belly of the beast. No, he can't even credit that war to himself; merely the strategist, pulling together tactics but not quite rushing to the charge. His stamina was not meant for this kind of conflict; he is not a man built for war and he does not want to be one if he can help it.

But that is not the role granted him in this iteration of life, it seems. Indeed, Roland plays the part well, darting worries and concerns expertly in favor of doing the job. The job comes first, and it always will. The job will send them all home. The job will save the innocent, the final people of a dying world. The job that will protect his teammates. The job that will defeat impending doom. The job -

- the job that was fit for warriors and kings and he is no longer one or the other, not anymore. He is but a man, stumbling through camp now with the worst of the worst behind him, though there is more pain yet to come. He manages to gait like nothing is wrong, ignoring glances sent his way, focusing all his remaining strength in trudging through the closest tent possible. Hair down, can't be bothered to tie up after it was so thoroughly whipped, cut and jagged from the back with strands sticking up unevenly. Clothes in tatters, cuts and bruises peppering his body where it can and can't be seen.

It's the drips of blood and toxin that give it away. A larger gash cut open against the skin of his shoulder all the way down his chest, ending by his ribs, barely patched up with salve that's not potent enough to stop demonic poison seeping into his bloodstream. When he is able to part the tent flaps, there is no more facade to show. The strength has all but left him, breaths no longer enough to sustain him defeated and weak.

He was cornered. Two giants, toying with him. And at first he had the upper hand, knowing what they could do to him, knowing what followed the snap of their weapons. He was going to go for a two-in-one kill. Then, it all came tumbling down. The Cat King's Claw, his favored weapon, broke at last, could not sustain the corrupting magic it already had to endure in his previous fight with a smaller demon. When he tried to escape quickly, the gun Senku patched up before disembarking failed him too; the mechanism snagging, the grappling hook stuck inside its barrel.

He would have actually died then, had it not been for Rannygazoo's final effort to save him, using up the last of Roland's magical stamina to summon its knight form, distracting the two for him to run away. The higgledy in question, was absent for now, not enough of Roland to summon it, not even in his heart. He lies asleep, in the abyss. When he tried to take supplies out of his Arms Band, it was of little use when his mind was so bogged up, he could no longer remember what was inside apart from Soreaway.

"Sorry, I'm just gonna - " He gurgles out, the flaps closing weakly behind him, covering him in shadow. His vision grows dim. He can only see motions now, no longer shapes or distinct faces. Just that he wants to sleep for a bit. Just a bit. Then he'll be back on his feet, as always.

As always.

"- take five..."

Roland collapses on the ground, face first, the golden hilt of his sword sliding lamely across battered soil.

Edited 2021-03-22 14:39 (UTC)

It feels like a coincidence, every time he and Tidus happen to be in the camp at the same time. It's not something that happens every day, but it just makes the moments where it does happen feel more special - and making Inigo even more inclined to take actual breaks from fighting, even as the stakes seem to have ramped up with the sudden attack near the camp just the other day.

But even as he's standing there right now, talking to Tidus, Inigo can see something from the corner of his eye. A figure moving that somehow immediately draws all of his attention, despite not even realising what he's watching right away. Like some instinct calls his gaze out towards the form.

And when he looks - really looks - and realises just who is stumbling through camp like that, and what kind of shape they're in, Inigo's heart completely freezes up. He stops mid-sentence in his conversation with the other teen, and he runs off towards the tent Roland disappeared in without saying anything more. Mostly since panic has taken over, but maybe a part of Inigo figures that Tidus will be following him anyway. That he most likely is having a similar reaction to this that Inigo has, a singular desire to go check it out as quickly as possible.

When he opens the tent and sees the collapsed form on the ground, Inigo immediately drops to his knees next to the man. His eyes go wide, and both of his hands reach out to find a piece of Roland's coat or skin that isn't ripped or an open wound, shaking the other. He's really trying to not do it too hard with Roland's current state, but it's hard to tell if Inigo can keep himself to that when panic has entirely overtaken him at this point.

"Roland--!" Inigo summons a potion forth out of his band, but then realises there's no way Roland could drink it in this state. Should he just pour it out on the wound? But the wound looks so big, and it's not like there's just blood surrounding it, he can see the poison the demons are using as well--

"Father!"

He had meant to go with Red, search out what had started to ping the SCAs of that team, Erda every day turning closer to resembling the mission on Terra. A massive lifeform, the source of all other of the world's assailants getting ready to rise. What would it be here, this time? What would come for the city, the world? If the dreams of the people before the mission told them anything, then...

They were useless speculation--at least, Tidus didn't bother to let himself get caught up in interpreting dreams he would never understand. It wasn't the threat of something large that deterred him from joining Red, but the worry of the city. The demons had somehow sneaked up close--no, just barged their way right outside of the camp's door with all the forces that they brought, and now what? If they could do that, they could bring anything, and Tidus was ready to admit he was better outside of the demon realm than inside. There were strong fighters everywhere, yet Red wasn't lacking in their best. Apprehension tries to be his company for his choice, the silence of the day that suffer seeking to help it, but Tidus doesn't rest, joining the patrols that know that the demons could attempt to attack them from any point, them or the city and its civilians they were here to protect.

And then dawn breaks, and so does the fever of their wait. The flood of demons washing in, numbers that outmatch their own. But what else do they have but to battle? But there are the small breaks they earn, breaks only in an activity soon to take them again. Making sure Inigo has the supplies he needs, if Tidus can take more of Jumblie's smaller helpers, use their light against the demons more effective - or more quickly - than Gibbers's water.

--Then Inigo is gone. A glance somewhere beyond him taken, wide eyes, a dash that Tidus barely has the instance to speak a question in Inigo's name, but he's already leaving him. He hears why, the name he calls out. A tent unoffending amongst the others around, but it's where Inigo runs, and Tidus chases after, letting the flap fall behind his back. There isn't much room, for what's before him. Inigo first, and then--

"Inigo, chill out!" It's not a command that comes quickly, Tidus falling to his knees, and Tidus sees the one bottle in his hand. Elixir, bean, elixir, bean-- Roland looks like he's out cold, or close to being. Could he chew like this? And he see the potion in Inigo's hand, not strong enough--no, they can't underestimate. He calls out the elixir always out in wait for his own wounds, pulls at the cap of it.

"Talk to him, keep him listening, okay? Talk," he instructs, not knowing if it'll do anything, but he wants to hear Roland, he knows he needs to give Inigo something too. He motions to Roland's head with a, "Go there, make a pillow," as if it mean anything, be a good choice. The lessons in medical treatment that Galo gave him so distant now. He wants to speak, he wants to say something, but it's only to Inigo that he can.

He lets the liquid pour out against his hand, a soft tremor in it beginning to build, and he starts to find the most grievance of areas to apply it, pressing down, letting the liquid sink in. Being firmer than he would like to be, but he can't help himself. Blood covers his palm and fingers as he lifts it back up, resting on some covered limb. A slow, shaking drip of the elixir -- giving it places to get to quick, spread out with a warmth, a tingling as muscle and skin numb and stitch back together.

Like a wave washing over, kissed by the sun; a sensation more safe than anywhere around them. Tidus drips the phial by about halfway, holding onto the rest, looking for any movement, any stirring.

It's a gradual immersion, but it feels nice. Refreshing. This is the most calm Roland's felt this entire mission and it's enticing him to do the opposite of what's being asked without him knowing - to talk to him, to get him to awaken. No, he wants to keep sleeping.

How strange.

(But then, demon poison could affect anyone hard enough, if it stayed wounds too long. The elixir does what it is meant to do, slow and steady repairing repressed damage, and the bleeding slowly ebbs into red, fading marks, dirt dried up against his skin, or worse: demon gore he never had time to clean.)

In the corner where no one but Roland can touch, he lays quietly by a field, endless green grass spanning until the horizon, with a house that he knows, somehow. He doesn't want to leave here, not for a while yet. For there is a gentle, soothing breeze that kisses his cheeks; the sun cradling him against its bosom. Eyes closed, moving about behind lids like he is dreaming pleasantly in broad daylight. Where was he? Were his hands feeling the course, golden wheat that surrounded the castle? Was he laid by his comfy bed, being called names - Mister President, Master Roland! - yet he doesn't come to their heed, dead to them all, dead to the world.

Dead. Was he dead at last? Has he finally awoken in some godforsaken hospital ward that survived the bomb somehow?

There are voices that come in and out, and they pull at him to come back up. Return, they beckon, return! Who...?

Their voices feel the same way, though. Warm and inviting, the sun and the sea that crown the shores of peaceful slumber. Of finally resting. He wants to be there, too.

(As the elixir works to heal his gash, a beat in his heart can be felt by the two who stay at his side: a higgledy that tries to come out of hiding, talks to them through the magic that connects all living things. Hig. Young sojourners, don't stop, hig. Help him, piggle.)

Whatever happens in the outside world, if he is being propped up or spoken to, he only has one reaction to it all. There is a hitch of a breath stuck in his throat, until his chest slowly rises into an arch, before collapsing slowly back down. He stirs, head moving side to side. Lips parting only to croak out, -'nt, 'm here..., barely audible.

But it's something.

Edited 2021-03-23 13:24 (UTC)

He's seen this so often. People this hurt, people even worse off than that. Cut up bodies, people being impaled - it were daily scenes he saw in their doomed future, the images still burned on the inside of his eyelids whenever he closes his eyes. And Inigo always tried to seem impassive in the face of it, trying to be strong for those who couldn't.

But this is different. This isn't just any person being this injured, looking like they managed to only barely crawl away from death's doorstep. It's Roland of all people, one of the people on the train most important to him. His father, of all people.

(If something happened, it wouldn't even be the first he'd be losing.)

Tidus's voice sounds like it's coming from all the way on the other side of the camp. It's that faint, like it's getting lost somewhere in the swamp of Inigo's current train of thought.

But it's still audible. Audible enough for Inigo's body to react to the words before his mind or his voice does. He starts moving so he's no longer squatting down next to Roland, but instead kneeling near his head, trying to gently move the guy so Roland's head is resting on Inigo's lap. A hand disappears into Roland's loose hair, his other lingering on Roland's shoulder after the potion disappears again.

And though Tidus is there, though Inigo can see the light that indicates that Tidus is now the one pulling out the healing equipment, he can only keep his eyes directly trained on Roland's face, on his closed eyes.

"I don't know.." He starts at Tidus, a miserable protest, but then swallows it. He can't do this right now. He needs to play his part too, to be strong in the face of this.

Especially when Roland starts making those small sounds, indicating he's still there. They have to pull him back, somewhere between the elixers and the words.

"C-Come on, you're almost there.. You need to open your eyes for us." Just so they can be sure. Just so Roland won't fall back into whatever slumber is trying to pull him in. Tears prick at Inigo's eyes, but he keeps talking. "We're both here with you right now. Tidus and I. Come on."

A part of Tidus's brain might know better, that the wounds will quickly heal, the elixir stabilising the body, bringing it back to a state of health even with what he gives. But what does that part of the brain matter than the apprehension that weighs over him? The what if, the eyes that don't like the view of this, Roland, bloodied and a mess.

Very Important Cargo, pushed to these extents.

Hibber-Gibbers emerges from outside of his heart, coming by his side. Glowing again as more of the smaller helpers poof and multiple, appearing and starting to take places around Roland, to throw in more healing, squeaks meaning to be comfort. Gibbs speaking the loudest and closer, inside each of their hearts:

'You are with friends, young heart! Listen to them, their hearts ache! Higgle!'

Tidus brings the liquid, next to smear some of the liquid across his lips; but his hands shake, more spills in through Roland's mouth and Tidus lets out a "Shit-!" at what might make Roland choke or cough. "Sorry -- sorry!"

He does back up the lid, securing what little contents remain within. Leaves it by his bet leg, immediately not liking this nothing that he's doing, despising. An unsteady "Roland?" that tries to be otherwise, listening for the man to say more. Knowing he needs to come together, for his mind to connect with its healing. Mouth tight, brow too, watching and waiting, his fingers curling into fists against his legs. Patience.

Who wants to practice patience at a time like this? But he has no choice but to, a quiet repeating of "Come on, come on, come on..." under his breath.

In this slice of his world, the sun suddenly begins filtering through cloudy skies. There are sounds echoing in his ears, also familiar; ringing bells that turn into compasses leading him north. He has to stand, stretch his muscles...and though he feels at peace, there's something not quite right about wanting to stay behind in this house, in this field, in this shore.

-isten to th-
-ung heart!

He takes a deep breath, remembers what it's like to have air this clear and clean fill his lungs, however phantom the feeling might be. Another ringing begins to tug at him, sharp and echoing.

-ear sou-
-ise up, awaken no-

He'll be back here one day. He knows it. But for now, he follows the trail to where home truly lies in wait, his steps moving faster and faster until his gait turns into a sprint, his knees bending to gain more speed. Whereas most will tell him not to run towards that speck of light growing bigger and bigger the more he reaches for it, a hand extended to grab; the sounds and the throbbing in his chest say otherwise. The farther he runs from where he was at rest, the more pain his body wakes up to.

Wakes up to?

It hurts again. But it's not the same as the pain of being whipped violently by thick, poisonous weapons. It's the pain of being torn apart and repaired, stitch for stitch, instruments reviving him from every damaged nerve and tissue that came about from the fight he had lost.

A fight he had lost?

Yes, there it is again. The ache now, one that starts from his toes and travels a begrudging path to his stomach, his arms, his neck, eventually making its way unto his lips where there's something there obstructing him from breath.

Roland?

The pain that ghosts his body is what awakens Roland back to life. The blue higgledies that dance around him begin to jump just as the elixir in his mouth clogs his airways, forcing him out of Inigo's lap in twitches and coughs before landing his nape back against his legs. He begins to wheeze for air that's been knocked out of him, vision blurring back into focus in the slow ticking seconds.

The blooming, pricking sensation of acid in his chest has disappeared now, but what remains is complete fatigue. Heaviness in every move, like he's being filled with lead. Dull, throbbing, his temples pounding.

The elixir drips from the corners of his mouth, though his hands aren't quite as awake as the stirrings of his consciousness. Half-lidded, he shakes his head around, dots in his periphery, everything too bright even in the shadow of a closed, dingy tent.

But when he blinks again, two faces come into view. One looking down at him, the other by his side.

We're both here with you right now.

Roland coughs again, tries to speak to them, the teens who saved his life. Who continue to save him in ways they'll never truly understand. His voice breaks at the end, but he forces a cough to clear it.

"I-I'm...Where..." He croaks. "What...happened...?"

Inigo can see the little blue helpers climbing all over his lap in an attempt to find some spot on Roland to nestle and bring the man comfort. He sees some of them disappear into his loose hair, one climbing onto his forehead, little higgledies all over.

But he's not paying any real attention to them. Inigo's gaze is trained firmly on Roland's face. If willpower was enough to make things happen, then Roland most likely would have woken up already ten times over somewhere between the way Tidus and Inigo are looking at him, trying to will him fully awake.

And then Roland moves. Suddenly and violently - suddenly enough for Inigo to grab onto his shoulders, trying to avoid spots that still look tender and in the middle of being healed up as much as possible, and gently guides the other back down onto his legs rather than letting the man slam right down into them. Inigo's breath stops for a moment in anticipation, until they get the full confirmation that Roland is with them again the moment the man speaks up.

Inigo's first response is to let out a shakey breath, fully feeling the hot tears roll down his cheeks now. But it's not sadness - not entirely. It's relief, so much relief, and gratitude. Thank Naga. Thank Naga. Thank Tidus for reacting so quickly and adequately.

"Y-You showed up in camp like this.. But you're safe now."

His hands still hold onto Roland's shoulders, as if he's afraid the other may fade from them after all the moment he lets go.

He sniffs. "A.. Are you okay..?" Relatively speaking, anyway. This isn't just a moment of clarity before Roland will fade again, is it?

It's a tightness, a cage against his body. Sense and reason, emotion and worry - Tidus has always been one to worry even when he shouldn't, when he knows that he shouldn't, but reason is on the other side of a glass wall that doesn't reach him.

He's suffered this before, he knows, close calls in Spira that he doesn't like to think back on, time and distance bludgeoning the lump that would form in his throat when he did. But it returns now even as Roland springs - close to literally - with life, the near choking, coughing against a liquid that's already absorbing itself through his body to give him a new life. It grows ever tighter, more raw through his body that trembles with a relief that hits him too hard, leaves him breathless.

He can't speak. Won't try when that lump has pushed up to the back of his mouth, when he feels himself a sting in his eyes. Tidus watches the pair, leaving it to Inigo to speak, for Roland to answer him; his gaze drifting away as the higgledies otherwise come to clamber about Roland's head and face, clinging on, speaking of relief and happiness in place for the boy who can't.

With tiny voices watery, and some leaking a substance that one would mistake as tears from their wild squiggly eyes, dripping like droplets wherever they land.

His senses seem to overwhelm him, with regaining his sights back into clarity, the weights, however light, peppering the proximity of his body, and the voices that tingle and comfort in his ears. Hands on his shoulders, water? on his face...

He's groggy, like a man trying to regain oxygen. Not sure of what to address first - so his hands do the talking where his mind still lags. He lets out a shaky breath as the front of his shirt, now torn, reveals smooth skin. No open wound, no oozing, no pain, no bleeding. His fingers run across repaired muscle and it's only then that he throws his head back against Inigo's lap, breathing faster than when he awakened.

If was to count his close calls on this mission, it would be far too many to even make it a joke.

But here he is ... And Inigo, yes this is Inigo now, as he really takes a good, long look at him, his expression upside-down from where he lays. The higgledies all around him continue to dampen what remains of his makeshift attire.

"I'm fine. Now. I..." Roland says in broken order, and as soon as it hits him - that he's safe and he's not running for his life, he does what comes naturally. His hand tries to graze for Inigo's cheek, to confirm that none of this was in that house in his dreams, that he was breathing the air of Erda, poor Erda and the demons that have nested into its core. Demons too strong for him, he sees now. None of his training in Evermore quite preparing him for a week long skirmish of death and destruction as the only constants.

And when he's finished assessing Inigo, wiping the fat tears that fall from the corners of his eyes, he is reminded of the blue sprites that squeal by his ears, as if in mourning. Sadness is rare in higgledies, but not impossible. They react to the hearts they've aligned with, to the circumstances that lay them bare. What was this feeling now, if not -

Roland blinks slowly, and tries to sit up, meeting Tidus's profile bent low and his gaze too far for him to catch. There's a strain by his lower back, though this is promptly ignored for another automatic twitch of his nerves, his other arm reaching out for him except it lands only where it can, by his knee. The higgledies all grow louder, trying to catch him by his hair now ragged and dirtied, his limbs that can't hold up a sword, not yet.

Then, out of this pained silence, Roland lets out a strained exhale of relief. His shoulders grow loose, sagging in inches, his hands parting from both as they come cover his face for but a moment before they're used to comb through knots and mats. Upon closer inspection, it seemed Roland too, had a glossy look about him. Tears unshed, not quite ready to fall, but hurting him all the same.

He presses the palms of his hands against his eyes.

"I'm so glad you're both safe."

His headspace only had room for one emotion at a time as he recovers, so it chooses the one that matters the most.

The moment Roland tries sitting up, Inigo's hands are already moving to try and support the other's back, worried that the man may just fall right back at this rate. Even if the elixir has been healing him, there's no way he has enough strength in his body already to be able to hold himself up, Inigo is sure of it. And while he isn't going to tell the other to stay down once he realises what Roland is doing - reaching out to Tidus, that is - Inigo is still going to be right here, his arms now firmly pressed against Roland's back to hold him up.

But rather than looking at the man, Inigo's gaze is drifting off to Tidus for a moment too. He can understand the feelings that must be swirling in the other teenager's heart too now. After all, no matter how differently they show it, both of them care deeply for Roland. Inigo knows that. There's no way Tidus didn't feel just as panicked and worried and hurt at the sight of Roland like this as Inigo himself did.

He kind of wishes he could reach out to the other too, in a slight gesture of comfort at the very least, but his limbs are rather occupied with supporting Roland.

Later, maybe.

For now his attention turns back to Roland, gaze growing serious as he hears what the other says. As he sees that, for once, Inigo himself isn't the only one to cry here.

"I.." Inigo starts. Voice uncertain, but he knows he has to press on. No matter how much hurt and relief and ten thousand other emotions live in all three of their hearts right now, someone here has to speak. They can't just leave it at Roland's statement.

"I think we should be the ones saying that about you," he finally manages. Because it's just true. It's so very much like Roland to think of them at a moment like this, when he's only barely been brought back from the brink of death, but still..

His voice is soft though, not a real admonishment.

He's mostly just glad that it's okay. That Roland is alive. That they were in time to do something about it.

".. thanks, Tidus," he finally adds, casting a small glance in the other's direction. If Tidus hadn't been there, hadn't acted so quickly.. Who knows how this would've ended up.

He hates that sound, the tone of Roland's voice. Relieved, how it leaves his mouth, a body exhausted. It sounds too close-- too close to an end, signalling anything but; but Tidus doesn't have it in him to hear right now, slow to return his gaze.

But he does, eventually. A hardened expression locked in, frozen, refusing to let anything slip; the line of his mouth pursed and awkward, the scowl he makes twisted closer into pained, trying not to be. He spots the hand close to him, Inigo's eye as he looks over, but he glances away, not interrupting him as he speaks. A pair of the higgledies grip uselessly with stubbed limbs the fabric of Roland's clothing, huddling close; another squeaking by his face, climbing up the side of Inigo's knee to be there.

Tidus says nothing, thinks nothing for their presence in this. Skirts his gaze off as the attention is returned to him, some colour to his cheeks - rather, his face -, but no tears fall for him. But his voice is quiet as he speaks, rough around the edges.

"...You should have called someone. If we didn't see you..."

Then what? Then what -- all that had to change was Inigo looking some other way, them being in another spot, doing something else. And then what? But the admonishment in Tidus's own voice is weak, not really there; in place of anything else he could be saying right now, but he doesn't know how to say.

He lets out a breath, exhaling the mood he doesn't want sitting on him.

"You owe us."

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The Will to Fight: Finale: All teams

( closed. ) purple camp ; before the final demon invasion.

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