Salleh slipped on the roof tiles as the blinding white light ate up the world. She shut her stoneiris against the glare, but Cote had been so powerful that even in the hands of a lesser, uppity mage like Sanele, he blazed in her natural sight as well. His spirit was an explosion of Light and Earth aura, distilled so pure that even as Salleh scrambled down the side of the roof, she couldn't help but marvel at the beauty of his Moonlight soul.

The dizziness of being exposed to that much refined aura made her almost lose her bearings entirely. She scrambled for balance, and her foot swung through open air. Her Perfect body didn't let her down, though, so by the time the flash of aura faded, she was perfectly balanced on the roof's eave. Spiritual exposure to that much aura made her want to vomit, so she could only imagine how the bastard chief must have been.

No, she didn't have to imagine.

Salleh teetered on the eave, one silk-slippered foot dangling over the edge, and fixed her gaze to the top of the sloping roof. Sanele was shivering terribly, and a rack of coughs threatened to send him tumbling down too. He was on hands and knees -- no, knees and one hand. He held his heart hand up, its white glow reflecting against the sweat on his temple. The flesh had burned away until only skeletal fingers remained, held together by tendons of his soul.

"You're a Perfect pretending to understand Judgehood." Salleh flexed her standing foot, ever so slightly, and then she was arcing through the air. She landed on the peak of the roof with barely a scuff of her slipper on the hot tile. "This is your final chance to give my beloved's soul back to me willingly."

The chief still had his head bowed and his shoulders were shivering feverishly, but his skeletal fingers slowly closed into a fist. A final defiance. Salleh took one step down on the rooftop before her brow itched. She opened her stoneiris and looked up to see a mage leap off a rooftop, Poison and Dream aura trailing his fist like a corona. The Perfect warmage that had flung the soul surgeon halfway across the town.

Salleh commanded her large cowl to slip off her head. The soft silk pooled around her shoulders, cool against her slick neck. If she had to fight two Perfect warmages by herself, she might have to put some actual effort into it.

A pressure touched the edge of her awareness. Salleh looked down at the street, and sure enough, there was Wenyanga, standing on the low outer wall of the manse. Their eyes locked with Salleh's, and for the first time, there was no trace of humour in them. That was for the better. Sanele was insolent, conniving, flimsy, but the surgeon was downright infuriating. They slid down the inside of the wall, white robes like a falling lily petal against the red stone.

The Poison aura warmage landed on the outer wall a three-count later.

Salleh ignored them both for now, focusing again on Sanele halfway down the roof. She should have had no hope in an open fight, no more than Wenyanga should have against their Perfect opponent, but contrary to popular belief, warmages weren't built for single combat. Their bodies were dense, strong, well balanced -- formidable in a phalanx, but outside of that wall of coordination, they were as clumsy and slow as bricks.

"I gave you my beloved's soul to help me pay tribute to his life as a warrior," Salleh said, flexing her soul so that her silk robes unfurled, iron-studded ribbons flaring out like peacock feathers. "I find you wanting. Give it back while I still allow it."

Sanele rose shakily to his feet, glowing fist clutched to his chest as he fixed her with a look of supreme defiance. These rural chiefs had a stubbornness about them that Cote had always admired. As for Salleh, she found it tiresome.

"I do this to protect my people, Seer."

Salleh tilted forward, her slippers hushing as she slid down the rough tiles. The chief crouched low to keep his balance, and at the last moment, when it seemed she was too close to dodge, he lashed out with a fist. It clipped the edge of her ear harmlessly as she twisted out of the way. When she flexed her soul again, her ribbons moved like living things, lashing the chief's ankles together and dragging him down the rooftop.

Salleh landed lightly on the balcony tiles. A heartbeat later, Sanele crashed into them shoulder first. He tried to rise, but Salleh gently pressed her foot on the top of his right hand. That hand was wider than her slipper was long, but yank as he might, he couldn't unpin himself.

"Seer or warmage, Chief, it makes no difference here. You only pretend at Perfection."

A silk ribbon drifted up the chief's bowed back, rippling with Kinetic aura, the iron stud crackling with feint lightning. The stud slipped over his thick neck, then looped the ribbon around his throat. There was no malice in her heart, because how was this semi-competent thief worthy of even that investment. So when she flexed her soul and the ribbon tightened, the only satisfaction Salleh took out of it was in seeing Cote's soul leak through his fingers to pool on the tiles.

A crash from above. Clay tiles splintered as the other Perfect warmage landed on the rooftop. Salleh hadn't needed to look up to see him flying through the air, he was a poisonous mote in her stoneiris. When he landed on the balcony, the tea table broke under his heel. Salleh's eyes were still on the choking chief, his wild thrashing barely shifting her foot.

"Tell you what," he said, kicking the table's iron frame from his leg. "If you let my Chief go, I won't cave your head in."

Salleh wrapped a second ribbon around Sanele's neck. When the iron stud bounced off his shoulder, it crackled with blue lightning, leaving a burn mark. The Poison Perfect was behind her, but Salleh saw the clench of his jaw, the rough way he sank into a crouch, the force of his powerful legs as he launched himself at her. She didn't move.

He was only half a heartbeat away when the air turned to syrup and a terrible weight pressed down on all their souls.