"What— you—"

Deverell sounded displeased from the muffled depths of his gas mask as he was restrained in place, dangling there. As soon as the sheriff flew off, he managed to sling his body up and slide back onto the catwalk, beneath the railing, but even then, he couldn't reach the valve to reopen it. There was still a lot of the chemical in the air, but not as much as there would have been, and certainly not enough down at the floor of the chamber to knock out the rampaging hulk of a tortoise.

"Hrrrgh. Should have known better! Can't rely on anyone."

The tall figure in the garish robes was hurriedly moving out onto the catwalks himself, toting what looked like some kind of ridiculously-large rocket launcher under his arm. As he hoisted it up onto his shoulder to take aim, though, something happened.

There was a final cracking sound, then a blast of heat. The top of the pod Ember was standing on burst, and light filled the room. A huge, feathered hand, orange and blazing as if white-hot, snared her whole waist in a fiery grasp. Yet, for some reason, it didn't seem to burn. It was just... warm.

The rest of the top of the pod exploded open completely, pieces of debris sailing at dangerous speeds and tearing new holes in the roof and walls of the building. A gargantuan feathered person stood from the wreckage. Searing white, with orange tips to glowing feathers, his wrists were bound in bejeweled gold bracelets, his shoulder decorated with a shimmering, sheer cape, his waist tied with a golden rope, and legs and feet wrapped in a similar cord from the knees down. His dark beak was hooked, almost barbed-looking, and his eyes somehow looked almost as razor-sharp.

This was the phoenix.

A bright blue beam, as big around as a tree trunk, blasted in from above, fired by the costumed impostor on the catwalk. It stopped just shy of hitting Ember and her captor (or protector?), halted completely by some fiery barrier.

The giant bird reduced the remainder of the capsule surrounding his waist to slag and casually stepped out to the open floor. He set Ember down most gently, then, in a surprisingly normal, polite, and dignified (albeit low) voice, said simply, "Thank you."

All the while, the scenario only served to raise more questions. While they now knew who at least one masked man was, there was still another, and now, they were suddenly in the midst of a ten foot tall ancient fire-wielding bird—and the fight wasn't even over yet.

The phoenix gave Tank a strange look—a nigh sinister look—almost like he was amused by the question but too wily to answer it directly. Behind him, the bloated figure on the catwalk had dumped his weapon and was hastily manipulating some sort of handheld computer. The ceiling of the room was beginning to release and lower a number of bizarre-looking contraptions, like arms with pointed spires on their ends, already humming and glowing with some sort of mysterious energy.

The phoenix looked upward. He blinked twice, very deliberately, as if to say, "Really?" His burning, winged arms coolly flipped out and extended to full, majestic span, then with but a single flap, he soared upward, curled his arms close to himself, spun, and unleashed a fiery torrent of destruction upon the devices, roasting and slagging them to dripping steel right where they hung. The four metal arms tore loose one after another and began crushing whatever they fell on. Even allies were at risk, were they not careful. Many capsules were shattered in the process, but this didn't seem to harm the occupants; instead, as the containers burst, those captured were released in a temporary protective bubbles. It was a familiar effect, actually...

The wave of heat went the full width of the room. The cloaked antagonist lit up like a match, and scrambled, struggled and flailed to part with his burning robes, twisting, wheeling, and spinning all the while in an awkward I'm burning, I'm burning jig all about the upper catwalk.

Underneath the costume was a red and white coat, alarmingly tight black pants, and a now-slightly-singed mustache. The wrongdoer of the day was also suddenly looking very familiar.

"Gah!"

And very... elusive, as always. He darted away through a nearby door much faster than any man of his girth should have been able.




Before any pursuit could be made, though, there was a thud and grunt immediately behind Jack as a white arm reached out to attempt to snare her around the neck in a chokehold, assisted by the point of a dagger.

It was Deverell. One of the links in his handcuffs had been split, presumably by that very same dagger, leaving only a single steel bracelet hanging from his wrist. He stood with a great measure of pain; his already injured leg didn't like the drop, but he seemed to be in too dark and cruel a mindset to let it bother him.

"You foreigners have ruined everything."

Sheriff didn't need any help this time. Deverell was a good fighter, but with his leg as shabby as it was, he couldn't do much to control positioning or to properly push and fight back against the griffin's unexpected grappling. The stiletto dropped from his hand with another grimace and grunt, and he bucked backward, arm forcibly held under the small of his back most uncomfortably.

"Nngah," he growled out as he twisted and tried to swipe back at his captor with his free hand to no avail. "You think you're doing something good, but you're not!"

"What good could this possibly be?"

Dureau, frazzled and a bit roughed up, but okay, verbally shot back at his brother as he carefully navigated a mound of debris.

Meanwhile, the phoenix had begun to pursue Eggman, but stopped somewhere near the door, peering out. One could hear the noise of rockets racing off into the distance. Perhaps even such a bizarre, mystical giant as this knew there was no sense chasing him into the night.

"Are you really this daft?!" spat Deverell. "Do you not know who that is?"

"A terrorist," replied Dureau. "Dr. Eggman, was it not?"

"Not him, you... fool, him."

Deverell motioned with his head toward the giant, flaming bird across the room.

"Well, yes," replied the baron, stopping in front of his brother. "It's the phoenix."

"The one and only," said Deverell more quietly. "Don't you see, yet?... He's not a myth. He is the authentic specimen. This is the one who can reverse death."

Dureau was silent.

"Deverell," he said solemnly, "what... did that man promise you?"

"We were going to extract his power. We were going to—"

"Going to what?" said the phoenix suddenly, and in a jagged-edged voice that seemed to echo at least three times in the chamber. "Don't you see, yet? You're the only fool here, child. Can you still not recognize that you were being used? What I am—what I am capable of, you cannot simply bottle up and... pour over your dead like some kind of fairy-tale elixir."

Deverell looked blankly at the giant, the will to argue draining from his face, and being replaced by dread.

"I heard your every conversation with that porcine devil. What you want cannot be done," he explained, his voice coarse and rattling with age as it became quieter. "Insofar as you know me, I am a myth. I don't have the power to bring anyone or anything back. I never did."

"I," began the phoenix with a brief pause as he held his wrist, adjusted his bracelet, and flexed the fingers of his hand, his rings clinking quietly with the motion, "am Xolot."

For just a moment, he rolled his head around on his shoulders, then stretched. It seemed he'd been cramped for quite a while. A second or two later, he looked down at the lot of them. A number of bystanders, awakening from their sleep in their pods, stared on with a mixture of awe and fear, while others still seemed too dazed to comprehend what was going on.

"I am not important, though," said the great bird very frankly. Though he was well-spoken and proper, his tone took on a conversational quality one probably wouldn't expect from some ancient-creature-from-the-beyond. "My role here has been quite small; I was merely taken advantage of in a moment of weakness, and did not prove particularly valuable to the Eggman's goals with what little power I have. It was really only my status as a prominent figure in local lore that aided him. It gave him a... creative way to disguise his movements—attributing them to a 'myth.'"

"Nonetheless," he digressed, kneeling down to get closer to eye level (it still left him looming over everyone but Tank), "thank you for your help. I would like to repay, or reward you in some way."

While all the gushing continued gleefully ahead of them, Dureau—yes, the real one—stopped beside Jack. He was a little run-down looking, and lacking his cape or hat, but he looked alright. The quaint humor of Ember's interaction with Xolot was silently backed by a certain glum solemnity behind her as the baron glanced between his brother and the sheriff.

"There is no mystery anymore, I suppose," the ermine sighed to the griffin. "Just an unfortunate reality... and and a lot of loose ends to tie off."

Deverell just remained silent, handcuffed in Tank's watchful custody and sitting with legs crossed, eyes locked on the floor. The phoenix meanwhile had finished speaking with Ember (and trying to urge her only to burn those who deserved it), stood once again to his full height, and looked ready to depart.

"I suggest you inform your military of the true threat," he advised. "I don't believe the Eggman has any other footholds in your region, but one can never be certain."

"Yes. Thank you," replied Dureau quietly.

"Mm."

The phoenix nodded. He surveyed the group thoughtfully for a moment, almost as if contemplating saying something. His gaze even hesitated on Deverell. With nothing more ultimately spoken, however, he merely exhaled, looked skyward through the damaged ceiling, and with a flash and beat of his feathered arms, exited.

The many onlookers stared in silence, and only then began to quietly murmur amongst themselves. The baron turned and walked away.