A scarlet motorcycle pulled up outside the Circle. It hadn't been there in several weeks. It's rider dismounted, the leather coat tattered and torn, flapping lazily in the winter breeze.

She pulled off the helmet, revealing fresh scars and tired, unsleeping eyes.

It had taken a few weeks to gather and find the right place and time. Days without sleep for those that knew enough Life to drag them all by. But they were ready.

"Move!"

The Arrows moved as one, and Phoenyx moved with them, through the portal the Magus proficient in Space held open. They charged, the world changing from an simple apartment to grandiose structures in an instant.

The Seers turned on them, and magic filled the air. The Obrimos could feel reality bending, see time slowing as mages slowed her. The lightning lept from her hand in slow motion before snapping back to full speed.

Sigils swirled and danced. The mage to her left became a goldfish in an instant. Bullets flew. Golems moved, some twenty feet tall. Lightning crackled. Darkness bloomed and fell.

She lept to the side as a huge stone fist slammed into where she stood seconds before - then half the golem was gone and the legs keeled to the ground.

She felt her dagger plunge into the chest of a Seer.

She felt he hand aflame burn, blister and scortch her arm.

She felt her magic knit her arm back together.

She felt his nose break and neck snap under a flurry of magically-enhanced blows.

Dust and Aether rippled through the air. One by one the sounds of fighting began to subside. One by one they joined with their fellows still fighting.

She had survived.

Slowly, Phoenyx made her way towards the Arrow quarter. Her muscles still felt stiff from where they had been healed enough to be functional, but not so much that the pain was fully gone. She considered, just for a moment, healing her wounds fully, but it would defeat the point, the purpose.

Her foot twisted on the stairs to the tower, and she hissed in agony. Clinging to the banister the firebird dragged herself to her room, where she collapsed on the bed.

Her dreams were twisted by wrything shadows and long corridors like the Seer's citadel. The faces of the people she'd killed. In the dream she saw her own hard features plunge the knife in again and again.

She woke, freezing and aching. Limping to the bathroom to wash herself of the sweat.

Dark eyes stared back from the mirror.

No regrets. No second choices.