When the first bullets penetrated the aluminum-plated elevator doors and vanished in a puff of smoke on the girls' shields, they had immediately leapt into action.
In tandem, Hope and Jessamine cast the spell "Ship of Theseus", a spell descended from the Carbon Copy that Arthur used in his own defense but which was much more adept at creating a convincing illusion:
"Surge, corpus falsum, de vi ac substantia eorum, qui mihi nocent!"
This spell was designed to integrate directly with their shield generators, as it would take any incoming projectiles and convert their raw matter into a perfect organic duplicate of the caster, using the energy of the projectile to fuel the transformation.
The seemingly-endless barrage provided more than enough resources for the copies to be made, and within two minutes, the girls were standing behind identical versions of themselves—not conscious, and not able to act except as decoys.
This spell was a product of the Academy's Research Groups, one which was never publicly released and only taught to high-ranking members of the Societie Royale.
With their subterfuge in place, a quick anti-gravity incantation was put into place: "Ge dobix!"
Their bodies became weightless, and the girls maneuvered themselves until they were flush with the ceiling of the elevator, which extended about a foot past the frame of the door. Fortunately, there were no mirrors or reflective devices in this contraption which would give away their position.
And then—they waited.
After another minute, the enemies ceased firing.
They must have assumed the girls, if alive at all, were in no state to fight.
With bated breath, Jessamine waited for the elevator doors to open.
Here we go.
It's concerning that they knew we were here…
The Keep must have been infiltrated by spies.
These next moments will decide our fate.
Jessamine glanced over at Hope, signaling her to take out the first enemy, to which Hope nodded in acknowledgement. The new Vice Chairwoman drew a pair of runic daggers from sheathes on her hips and prepared her aim; she was already wearing the necessary gloves and harness, which she had taken from Research Group Theta's armory immediately after the attempt on the King's life.
A man walked in; they heard him make a disgusting sexual comment after examining the bodies, at which point Hope decided to attack.
With a motion of her hand, she activated a new feature of the Teleporting Daggers that Caspian and Lance had been perfecting for the past weeks: 'Reposition', the ultimate assassination tool, a spell which allowed the user to manipulate the daggers telekinetically.
She teleported the dagger to the enemy operative's clean-shaven throat and sliced it with a single flick of her fingers.
***
"We should leave," said Caspian, trying to sell the urgency of the situation. "Natasha, how are you finding the gear?"
"I've almost got the hang of it," she replied.
"Good. We need to get over to the Academy Keep as soon as possible."
"One question, Caz," asked Gwen, "what's the strategy for getting inside? The Societie had their whole sneaky-infiltration plan, but we've got to assume their cover has been blown already."
"And another thing—" Lance interjected, "—why did you let Hope take the daggers? I was looking forward to using those!"
"Is the substitute not to your liking?"
Lance turned over the heavy metallic object in his hands, satisfied with its weight and damage potential, but disappointed that he was changing roles within the group's combat dynamic.
"No, it's fine…"
"Then what's the issue?"
Caspian just doesn't understand, Lance thought. If I had the daggers, I could really show off…
"I guess—nothing," he said aloud.
"Good," Caspian said with resolution. "As for your question, Gwen, we'll be entering via strategic teleportation. You'll see when we get there. Is your rifle good to go?"
"Yes, sir!" she replied with a jovial smile.
"Alright, then. Research Group Theta—deploy!"
***
The Executive Board of the Societie Royale, separated into eight squads for convenience, silently and subtly reunited within the stairwells of the Academy Keep.
Their destination: the sub-basement where Jessamine and Hope, their Chairwoman and Vice Chairwoman, were currently engaged in providing a distraction. Both teams paused on the final landing before their destination floor, waiting for the signal to proceed with nervous apprehension.
Between the two forces of approximately four squads each, it was the team in the leftmost stairwell which would be facing immediate danger. According to Jessamine's intelligence, the Ravensleigh Vault was located in the lower-left corner of the Keep, in close proximity to the stairwell.
In fact, they could hear the enemy soldiers readying for war.
A strangled cry from the distance—
The sound of machine gun fire—
That was the signal. As one, the teams in the left and right stairwells advanced into the sub-basement, weapons drawn and scanning for enemy targets.
Unfortunately, the enemy was waiting for them.
As soon as the Societie force emerged from the left stairwell, they were immediately beset by the well-trained enemy operatives, who were using the unconventional and haphazard layout of the sub-basement to their advantage. They had taken up positions in easily-defendable corners and alcoves, some hiding behind the concrete-encased load-bearing columns, and all of them opened fire on the Societie in unison.
The Societie was not in immediate danger due to their shield generators, but every bullet disintegrated by magic depleted their batteries and reduced the amount of time they could withstand such an assault. And once their shields were down, the Societie would surely lose; despite being composed of many former soldiers, they could tell that the enemies were better trained and equipped.
The Societie could not afford to be drawn into a protracted battle.
However, the Societie did have one advantage: numbers.
Approximately twenty students were on each stairwell team, and they could tell that their opponents numbered no more than fifteen. Jessamine and Hope had eliminated a handful, presumably, and there was a high likelihood that the enemy had split their forces to defend against a two-pronged assault.
The Societie estimated that their force of twenty was currently engaged with a force of no more than seven, which evened the playing field and allowed the Societie to advance with confidence.
They returned fire and took up their own defensive positions, though there weren't as many convenient columns or alcoves to shelter them from gunfire. The enemy had foreseen their arrival and left the Societie with few options for defense, which wasn't a good opening stance for the battle.
One Societie member, a girl on one of the lower-ranked committees, was being especially pressured by the enemy assault. Her chosen cover was not as protective as her comrades', and every few seconds a bullet would be dissolved in a puff of green smoke by her shield generator.
I need to move, she thought. If this keeps up, my shield will give out.
Peeking towards the battlefield, she saw a column a few meters ahead which would offer significantly greater protection, and she resolved to make a break for it.
Gathering her courage, she darted out of her cover and towards the promising column.
Too late, she realized her mistake.
As soon as she had appeared, the entire enemy force focused their fire on her. While her shield could withstand a continued assault for a few minutes, the shields were largely designed with great distances in mind—distances which would prevent the majority of bullets from hitting their target. Once the combatants were in close quarters, the purpose of the shield was to last long enough for the soldier to finish his enemy.
Her shield had already been worn down during the initial fray, and now she was facing a hail of bullets seven times more numerous.
Her mad dash for the safety of the column seemed to take an eternity, each moment increasing the likelihood that her shield would break.
And if her shield broke, she would die.
The magically-accelerated rounds would tear her body apart like seagulls fighting over a piece of bread.
As time seemed to come to a standstill, her imagination took flight. The pain, the misery, the experience of regret in the face of death—there was that boy in middle school, she wished she could see his dopey face once again—she experienced it all. She imagined the pain of losing every limb, the pain of disembowelment after a round tore a hole through her abdomen.
Her mind was nearly overloaded by the time she hit the ground.
That's when she realized: she hadn't been imagining anything.
She looked up, seeing only the dark, foreboding barrel of a rifle, and realized that she was about to confront non-existence. It was a confrontation she could not win.
The other Societie members recoiled in horror as her head became nothing more than a pinkish paste on the floor.
Without even receiving a moment to process what had just happened, the enemy resumed firing on the remaining Societie members—or maybe, they never stopped firing at all.
To them, this was an extermination of spoiled graduate students who were playing soldier.
They were professionals. They cared not for the life of one idiotically-brave student. If they saw an opportunity to diminish the Societie's forces, they'd take it.
***
Meanwhile, Hope and Jessamine had encountered the other half of the enemy's force and had engaged them in battle.
Even though the purpose of their two-person task force was to distract the enemy long enough for the stairwell teams to get into position, they had a secondary goal: eliminate as many enemies as possible. To this end, Jessamine was engaged with casting repeated counter-magicks while Hope pushed the teleportation functions of her daggers to the extreme, darting around the battlefield faster than human eyes could track.
"Omnia, quae sub sole sunt, regnum meum sunt; Omnia magica discutiantur!" cried Jessamine, stepping out from behind cover to attract the enemy's fire.
The enemy did not hesitate to take up Jessamine's bait.
They had been targeting her for minutes, now, even as the other girl picked off their men one-by-one; but the girl standing before them never seemed to die.
Her shield had been depleted long ago; fortunately, Jessamine was a Master-level magician who knew how to cast shield magic instinctively.
Despite her apparent invincibility, maintaining her shield required great effort from Jessamine, which severely diminished her ability to fight. If she didn't stay focused, after all, the bullets would rip through her in a heartbeat.
Still, Hope was more than efficient for the two of them.
She had begun her assault by picking off the soldiers in the rearguard, in order to hide her method of attack and preserve the element of surprise for as long as possible. Hope was relying on Jessamine's counter-magic to take care of their shields, since it was unknown whether or not the complex runes within the shield generators would perceive the knives as enemy projectiles and target them for removal.
As the teleporting daggers were their greatest asset—a weapon potentially on par with Excalibur—the girls couldn't take any risks with their usage.
Thus, it was only after Jessamine had dispelled the enemy's shields that Hope was free to flit between the various enemy combatants, dispatching them with ease due to the unexpected nature of her teleportation.
After a few more minutes of intense fighting, the last enemy fell as Hope used Recall to retrieve the dagger from his corpse, and Jessamine was finally free to let down her guard for a minute.
The sound of gunfire from the left side of the sub-basement drew their attention. It seemed the team assigned to that stairwell was encountering difficulties.
But where's the team from the right? We should have encountered them by now, thought Jessamine.
A startled scream from behind her drew Jessamine's attention.
She turned to find a girl she did not recognize as a Societie member, let alone one of the Executive Board. Along with her were a couple other girls and some guys, all 'regular' students by the looks of them. They were all in various states of disbelief as they gazed at Jessamine, Hope, and the mountain of corpses around them.
"W-we heard a commotion down here and came to check it out," one of the guys offered. "What's going on?"
Jessamine narrowed her eyes in suspicion at the newcomers.
"Who are you, and how did you get here?"
"U-uh—my name is Pierre DuPont, and this is my Research Group," he replied, gesturing to the others. "You assigned us a position along the western shore, near the harbor?"
Jessamine suddenly recalled the man's face; he had been a late arrival to her meeting, claiming to have been traveling the previous day.
"Go on," she said impassively.
"We withdrew when you gave the order," he said, appearing confused. "Then, as we were in the Keep, we heard something going on down here—are you okay? Can we help?"
"Did you encounter any other group on your way here?"
"No," Pierre lied, though Jessamine remained unaware of his role in the right stairwell team's disappearance.
"Come with us, then," she said. "We're going to join the battle over there and reinforce our teammates."
"We're right behind you," Pierre replied.
All according to plan, he thought.