Chapter 197: The Final Fitting

The hooks screamed across the broken sky in a brass storm, each one trailing a cut mask that wailed. Fox, Rhino, Dove and Viper masks tumbled through the glare below, every single one of them tagged in chalk.

The Collector sang, "These are fine cloth, dear boy, I mean to hem every last one into my coat."

Glass strips folded inward like pleats in a gigantic skirt, shrinking the mirror world until it hugged his shoulders. Behind him two shears rose from the floor, each blade tall as a door and sharp as a verdict.

Zinnia drew her rapier, "He is closing the world around himself, we must keep one seam open."

"Then we keep it open by breaking him," Calla said.

Nilo could not answer, so he pressed his palm against the bandolier and let the masks feel his heartbeat. Clangor flared first, plate sliding over his shoulders as the round shield dropped heavily into his waiting left fist.

[ CHORUS ]

[Masks: five]

[Hold: nine seconds]

"Hold the line, young man, a Knight's courage is counted in the hours he refuses to fall," Clangor rumbled.

The first wave of hooks struck the shield like hail on a tin roof, the whole Hall ringing. He pivoted through the swarm with the Knight's weight behind each step, shoving the wall of hooks backward.

'Rattle next. I need those hooks to stop flying.'

His hand flicked and the Scrapper's goggles slammed down, the plate melting into a patched leather coat. Metal Sense lit every hook red, so he swept an open palm in a hard pulling arc.

"Those are my needles, I call dibs," Rattle cackled, magnets chattering along both forearms.

Two hundred hooks wrenched sideways into a spinning ball above his head, the cut masks tinkling like chimes. The Collector's hat tumbled off again, so he snapped his shears shut on a mirror to catch himself.

His lips trembling, he said, "Remarkable, you pull a hundred promises toward one coat."

"The shears are folding the sky down onto us, Zinnia, do something spectacular," Calla shouted, flinging a dagger.

Zinnia planted her feet and raised her free hand, every shard of broken mirror turning toward the Collector's face. The shears closed on the first image, so his coat split open along the seam and thread sprayed out.

"Reflection Reversal, darling, he is wearing his own cut now," Cadenza sang from the rack.

The Collector lurched sideways, a hand pressed to his ribs, silver thread unspooling from the tear in an arc. For the first time that night his smile was gone, leaving behind the face of a very old man.

"Thirteen hands wide... you are still too large to hem, I do grow tired of mending," the Collector gasped.

Nilo flicked a coin across the floor and the Drifter's coat settled over his shoulders, lazy as a stretch. His katana slid halfway from the sheath, then the ball of hooks split in two with a single draw.

The Drifter yawned, "Try not to waste the swing, kid, the good ones are rare."

Calla slid in beside him with a poisoned blade in each fist, cutting a path through the falling brass. She bumped his shoulder once, a small private signal, then ran for the left blade of the great shears.

Zinnia called after her, "Calla, if you die on that blade, I will be very annoyed with you."

"Then I will try to be annoying in a different way."

'Four masks and one more closes the loop, then my head rings like a bell.'

He slapped the Opera Mask on and the Diva's tailcoat flared, the tuning fork spear spinning to life. One high note rolled out of him without a sound, shattering a hundred hooks into bright brass dust.

[ SKILL USED ]

[Aria Break: soundless]

"Darling, a silent aria is still an aria, the audience will remember it."

The left blade shrieked as Calla's poison ate through its edge, black smoke rolling off the cracked metal. She spun clear as the blade dropped, leaving a dagger buried in the steel like a hat pin.

The Collector cried, "My shears, my beautiful shears, do you know what a tailor's pair costs?"

The Collector slammed both shears together, so the folded sky came down in a falling wall of glass. Nilo felt the fourth swap tearing at the base of his skull, the old strain climbing his neck.

Zinnia cried, "Nilo, your nose is bleeding, keep going, I am right behind you."

She swiped the blood from his lip with her cuff, never taking her eyes off the swinging shears. He caught her wrist a heartbeat later, thanking her with a long grip, his words gone entirely tonight.

"You owe me one handkerchief, I am adding it to the ledger beside the noodles," she said.

"Twenty years I sewed this cloth, I will not be unpicked by children and clowns," the Collector snarled.

'Twenty years, the same as the sky being open. He has been waiting for a Seat this size since day one.'

A thunderous crack split the seam high behind them, Bruno's armored shoulder bursting through the glass ahead of everyone. Ganzo followed through a falling shower of splinters, the hammer already glowing orange in both of his huge fists.

"Make way, the Steelhorn heir has arrived, with his captain as a modest accessory."

"I brought the hammer, the captain was an afterthought," the captain boomed, driving it into the fallen wall.

Jingles shrieked from the rack, "Put me on, I have exactly one joke left and it is a good one!"

He slammed the Jester over his face with the last second, red and teal diamonds crawling across his coat. The laugh that tore out of him was completely silent, but every thread in the whole room shivered anyway.

"Young man, I counted the swaps, you finished a full second ahead of schedule," Clangor said.

[ SKILL USED ]

[Laugh Track: stitches loosened]

"Impossible, a laugh cannot unpick a tailor's work, it has no needle—" the Collector gasped.

The folded sky unraveled slowly in long silver ribbons, the great shears stuttering in the Collector's suddenly trembling grip.

"Nilo, the Chorus is finished, you cannot hold another swap... your voice is already gone," Zinnia said, catching his elbow.

Ganzo's hammer met the left blade of the shears in a shower of orange sparks, the whole floor jumping. Bruno planted both horns against the right blade, his heels carving furrows through the floor as the steel creaked.

"Captain, this blade is stronger than my father's will, I beg you to hurry."

"Tusk is hungry, kid, give me four more seconds and a proper swing," Ganzo said.

Fire poured from the hammer head and licked up the left blade, turning brass to bright orange in seconds. Bruno heaved against the other blade with a roar that rattled every loose shard of glass in the world.

"Whatever you are going to wear, wear it now, the blades are closing," Calla shouted from the floor.

Nilo stumbled backward as the Chorus ended, masks clattering cold on their pegs, his headache ringing like a bell.

Then a thin dry voice spoke from the rack, one that never wasted a word, "Wear me now."

"That was Zilch, he has never asked to be worn," a small voice whispered from the rack.