“You can go back,” Defiant said. “The simulations assume some worst-case scenarios. Bombs, betrayals, all-out losses, outside intervention, groups you’ve split off being turned into her pawns.”

“I don’t think I want to play this game,” I said. I adjusted my flight as Defiant turned the Uther a bit.

“I am always playing this game,” Defiant said. “I play through it on fast forward, adjusting on the fly, working out who is where, what the enemy is doing. On the battlefield, I simulate what my opponents will do.”

“Almost like a precog.”

“No,” he said. “I am very good at assessing battlefields. That’s all it is. Right now, we’re in a state where we have next moves we can make. Stay focused, don’t lose heart.”

And prepare for that bomb, all-out loss, intervention, or whole groups being taken as her pawns, I thought.

“Can I?” Withdrawal asked.

“Go right ahead,” I told him.

He was in an awkward position, his limb-extension frame making him too tall for the Uther, but he found a crouching position, had his frame grab a handhold above, and detached from it so he could reach forward and experiment with the simulation.

“Damsel,” Rain said.

“That’s Damsel of Distress to you. Use my full name, you cretin.”

“Behave,” Defiant called out.

“Your arm,” Rain said, indicating the arm that hung limp at her side.

“There are things about a lady you don’t remark on if you care about your well being. Age, weight, and war wounds.”

“Words to live by,” Sidepiece said, reclining back on the bench, so her ripped-up stomach stretched, strings of flesh snapping where they extended too far from upper to lower body. There were little sparks and puffs of smoke where the spatter hit the floor and Caryatid’s dress.

Rain leaned forward, pulling off his mask, squinting. “That doesn’t look like battle damage. Your muscles further up your arm are twitching, which reads to me like a connection issue.”

“There are four things about a lady you don’t remark on, you drooling malcontent.”

“Do you want me to fix it? I’m not at my best today, but that’s easy stuff.”

“The arm works, I’m choosing not to use it.”

“Because it hurts when you do. Let me fix it.”

“Who are you to tell me what to do?”

“Oh my god,” Sveta whispered.

“Damsel of Distress,” I said. She snapped her head around to glare at me. “It means you’re more focused, and you can annihilate more chunks of Endbringers and Titans. I saw you out there. We all want you out there as long as possible.”

“You want me weak,” she told us. “So your dear Swansong can sneak in, blur the boundaries between me and her, take over, and then you’ll have her back.”