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Chapter 113

I hit the black glass hard on my feet, and too directly to do a tuck and roll. The jarring impact runs up my spine and vibrates in my jaw, and I crumple to my knees, lying gasping on my back for over a minute.
Misjudged the height.
Okay, Ash. I give myself a pep talk, ducking as a bird with a knife-like beak and a death wish streaks over my head and skewers a small Servant airship. This is it. You're entire life has led up to this moment. People are out there dying for this cause, so you'd better get moving.
Wincing in pain, I pull myself into a sitting position, still breathing hard. I survey my surroundings.
The glossy black roof is maybe fifty or so feet in diameter, with a tall golden spire in the center, at least until it begins to slope. I begin to crawl to the edge, since there's obviously no way I can break through the thick glass with my bare hands. It takes a while and causes me a lot of pain, first in my stomach with the old wound, and second because I think I sprained my ankle.
Slowly and surely I creep on my stomach across the roof, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible so I don't get lasered in two. Hey guys, wassup? Just breaking into your Palace to assassinate your Ruler and burn your Order, nothing much...
I reach the edge eventually, and carefully I crane my neck to look over it, trying not to slide right off. The main sphere of the building goes down about twenty or so feet, the glass as thick as ever, before tapering into the thin support.
Okay, no prob, I think, my eyes darting back to the needle-like spire. I limp back over and, after surveying it closely for it's weak points, one square kick and it clanks to the roof.
My foot throbs from the strain, and I wonder if maybe using my injured one to kick down the spire was such a good idea. But I push this aside. Pain is for wimps.
I grip the spire, and totter over to a place where the glass seems slightly thinner than elsewhere, because I can see through the black tint into the crimson hall inside. My knack for locating weak points is becoming more and more useful by the day.
"Hold on, Coal." I grit my teeth, and raise the spire above my head. "I'm coming."
With all the strength I can muster, I bring the needle down into the glass, and the fissures spiderweb it.
CLANG.
Again, I bring down the golden spire. The Palace's focal point becomes it's bane, I think. How ironic.
CLANG.
The fissures widen and spread.
CRACK.
The roof shatters, and I fall.