Nonpareil's Ghost marks off the last of their bounties as complete, radiating satisfaction.

Nonpareil groans. "Back home already? The energy in the Tower is so off lately."

Behind her, Taranov shakes off her robe to release a shower of spinmetal fragments, gained on an unintended roll through the Mothyards. "Yeah, but there aren't any working showers here. Let's get going."

"Already?" Thoughtfully, Nonpareil summons a ball of Void Light and tosses it up and down. "Hey. Taranov, think fast!"

The other Guardian turns around just in time to catch the Light with her face.

Taranov splutters as she's resurrected. "I will kill you."

Nonpareil beckons to her. "Yeah? Give me your best shot."

Taranov lifts her grenade launcher and shoots directly at Nonpareil.

She's still bent over laughing when Nonpareil's Ghost brings her back up.

They each go down three more times before they work out the rules for their new game: grenade launchers for the serve, Light weapons for the return.

Nonpareil smacks the grenade firmly this time with her Sentinel Shield; Taranov watches as it sails overhead and hits an old shack in the distance. After a moment, the noise of the explosion reaches their ears.

They keep their Ghosts busy with resurrections the whole afternoon.

As daylight fades, so does their energy. Taranov releases her Dawnblade with a groan. "You ready to take on the Tower now?"

Nonpareil slings an arm over her shoulder. "We're going to fix the Tower. Good times for everyone! Listen: we get in on the ground floor of a whole new sports league. Bookings. Betting. Licensed gear. The works."

Sunset over Old Russia is a beautiful sight. Small fires burn in the scrub. The view warms Nonpareil's heart.

A week later, they have 300 signups for their new grenadeketball league, and roughly as many citations from the Praxics for alleged manipulation of betting rings.