"I need you where you can move. Getting out of the way is my number one defense, and it's also your number one defense while I'm your bodyguard."

"All right. ... Is there a safe place I can put this?" she asks, holding up the diary.

"Ishmerai can take it to a safe place far away." 

Ishmerai offers Sophia a heavily-engraved hand-and-a-half sword, and a silvery necklace. 

"If only I could take the both of you." 

"If only. I suppose stealing the gate tome for me early isn't an option?"

"That would take time we don't have, and still leave Seffie behind. Better that I stay and help fight."

Persephone puts on the necklace and accepts the sword: despite the apparent weight of three and a half feet of steel, she lifts it easily. 

Her eyes are glowing orange again.

"We have about ten minutes before an explosive breach that kills us all. Our best shot is likely in seven minutes, while the shadows are drawing the diagram. They came prepared with destruction runes, so there's definitely a high-rank commander."

Yvette thinks that she regrets having a smart mouth now, but she doesn't think it's helpful for her to say it. She just nods, looking grim.

Seffie attempts a smile. 

"Don't worry, I've made it out of worse situations than this before." 

"Please stop smiling, Seffie. It's really not helping."

"I don't mind," assures Yvette. "Right, uh - diary to safe place, please, if there's nothing else to do before we attack them?"

"Good plan." 

Ishmerai takes the diary. 

"Seffie, you'll know the signal."

She nods. 

And then Persephone and Yvette are alone in the room.

Yvette does not let herself be disturbed, and instead carefully gets a feel for the weight of her new knife. It's balanced, like her last one, but a bit heavier...

Persephone steps up to the west wall, and leans against it. Her gun is up against the wall: she holds her sword away from the concrete, ready to swing. 

"There will be an exit here in a few minutes. I strongly suggest that you be standing behind me then."

"I'm not going to be offended if you order me to go places in an emergency," says Yvette, and behind Persephone she goes.

"Force of habit." 

And now there is nothing left to do but wait. 

Yvette nervously tests the balancing of the knife. It is perfectly balanced, but it makes her feel better, and keeping her nerves from fraying into pieces is important right now.

Persephone waits, her expression as inscrutable as ever.

If this were a perfect world she could throw the knife a few times to really make sure she's gotten a feel for it - but she's too afraid to let the knife out of her grip, too afraid to step out from behind Persephone to retrieve it. She'll - wait, too. While nervously fidgeting with the knife, wondering if its heavier weight and her slightly shorter limbs will throw off her aim too much.

There seems to be a lot of waiting to do.

Why. Why this thing. If she's going to potentially die can she just get it over with please?

The wall explodes. A black, gnarled mass of smoke-muscle slides across the room and impacts against the far wall with a heavy thunk. 

Then its seven limbs slide in underneath it, and it raises its three-eyed head to stare directly at Yvette. 

Persephone's pistol coughs.