Louise had asked for a familiar to surpass all others so, of course, she got one that was exactly that. However, she had most decidedly not expected her familiar to break down into thirteen pieces the moment she'd summoned it. Neither had she expected the entity that had seemed by far the most terrifying of the lot of eldritch abominations to remain standing firmly in place.
It seemed to be floating above the ground, it's long, black and crimson cloak billowing even though there was no wind, the chains wrapped around its chest rattling with every bit of movement, clashing against each other. It waved two metallic weapons around, and its head, which was covered in bloodied bandages, only let Louise see one of its eyes. The fact that the eye was perpetually open, as it seemed to be just the organ jammed into the socket, was probably the creepiest parts.
Terrified beyond belief, Louise whimpered as the creature focused on her. She knew not where the knowledge came from, nor did she care. At the moment, all that she cared about was that she was staring at the eye of the Reaper, of the anthropomorphic personification of a metaphysical concept she wasn't entirely acquainted with. And it was staring back.
The Magician didn't go too far. Death caught up easily. The being made of hands could not escape fast enough, and a single, small projectile made of what Louise guessed was brass from its color, pierced through it, gaining its attention. Louise didn't know why she'd been grabbed by the scruff of the neck by her familiar and brought to the ceiling. All things considered, she didn't terribly care, either, for one simple reason.
She was too busy being terrified about it.
The Reaper shot the creature a few more times, until it stopped squirming, and Louise almost gouged her eyes out in the spot, when her familiar began eating the other creature.
The Priestess and the Lovers hadn't gone very far before meeting each other and, as was customary amongst the Major Arcana, they began trying to eat each other.
Louise didn't even bother beginning to complain when her Familiar wrapped a chain around her leg and dragged her off to meet the Arcanas' battleground. She was pleased to note, however, that Death had improved its table manners considerably since the scolding she gave it.
Death took offense at the Water Spirit being something that thought itself beyond Death. Therefore, Death rectified the issue by shooting it.
When that didn't work, Death just shot it some more. Eventually, it began to work.
Kirche shivered. "Remind me to never, ever piss off Louise again." She told Tabitha.
War came.
Death looked not entirely satisfied.
"Okay, you can go, just make it quick." Louise said, groaning.
There was a sound that might've been a squeal of joy coming from the reaper, who shot the sky in seeming celebration...
...Only for a Myriad Arrows to rain on the Albion army.
The Survivors thought this was a natural disaster.
Death shot randomly once again.
There were a couple spheres of purple smoke that descended into the gatherings of soldiers.
Megidolaon shook the flying island.
The giant ass dragon faced forward.
Death levelled its revolver at its face. "I know what you're thinking. Did he fire six shots or only five? To tell you the truth, I've lost count myself." It sounded oddly enough like an overly violent policeman. "Seeing as this is the most powerful handgun ever made, you've gotta ask yourself a question."
The dragon roared.
"Do you feel lucky?" The reaper asked.
The dragon roared, again, and tried to breathe fire into Death's face. Its coat was a little singed.
"Well, do ya, punk?"
The reaper squeezed the trigger.